I Don't Know (An Original Spot Conlon Story)
by Anna W
Summary: Spot Conlon prides himself on having all the answers. But when it comes to his ambiguous relationship with Katherine Moore, the fiercely independent former flame of Jack Kelly, he often comes up empty-handed. Yet after her mysterious disappearance, Spot finds himself leading the charge to find her only to discover that there may be no way to bring her back. Part 1 of 2
1. Chapter 1

Chapter1

"Who are you, Katie?"

I stared disgustedly at myself in the small round mirror of my dark room. My face was tear stained and puffy, only reflecting a small portion of the pain I felt deep within. I realized how this was a pain that I had unknowingly coddled and indulged for years. How stupid of me! How idiotic!

"How so like me," I whispered cynically, completely deflated.

Realizing that insults would do me no good now, I sighed and numbly turned away from the mirror, revolted with my reflection. It had never been enjoyable before, but now the disgust at my newly realized foolishness only added to my insecurities.

My attributes were mostly plain. I had pale white skin and dark wild hair that very rarely was able to be tamed by the pins and combs available to me. I lived with it, but only because societal norms dictated so. Otherwise, I would have taken scissors to it myself many years ago.

My green eyes were the only feature on my face that I felt were worth noticing. They were bright, lively and constantly betraying my emotions. They had been the only physical attribute that I considered an asset.

This all was so petty though! How silly it was to think about my face when my heart was the thing causing me eternal ache. How could I be strong against this ache? How could I make it go away? My desperate questions yielded no reassuring answers.

I was drawn in two directions. Two endless roads that would both take me to some unknown destination. My heart was torn between each and my soul was longing for a decision. All I wanted was to see him, hear his voice and continue the friendship that only caused me pain. But how could I bring myself to walk away from him, even if he would never reciprocate my ardor?

I paced in my small room, deep in thought, the light of the candle waning with every swishing step I took. He would never love me. He would never turn himself away from the wench that had so swiftly stolen his heart. So what was the point of continuing any of this? Why put myself through more heartbreak? He was still close with me now, but if he ever knew of my love, my complete adoration of everything he was…what would happen?

"Stupid fool!" I scolded.

He would be repelled, of course. My beauty (or lack thereof) would not hold him to me. My intellect he had never appreciated to its fullest. My companionship had never seemed to entrance him long enough to ignore the advances that other women so readily threw at him, and it was no different with the girl who currently held his affections. She was flawless and he was completely and unapologetically enraptured by her. There seemed to be nothing I could offer him that would even come close to what he already possessed. I feared that soon even our history together would cease to hold importance. Perhaps he felt a responsibility to see me through the worst of what had just transpired in my life, but after his duty had been fulfilled, I was almost certain our close friendship would fade into naught. In the end, I would be nothing more than a distant memory.

Reminiscing about our history brought me back to the first time I had met him. I smiled lightly as I remembered that day that now seemed to be a different lifetime. He had told me in later years how much he had enjoyed my company right from the start. As our relationship had evolved into friendship, he informed me that I "got through to him". The way I spoke "made him think" about life and the future, but little did he know how greatly he had affected my own thinking.

His beautiful blue eyes had captivated me the minute that they had met mine. His lips had immediately smirked upward when seeing me, only making the blush come more fully to my pale face. His voice had been deep, commanding but with a hint of humor. That had been the confusing thing about him. Everything he did seemed to contradict who I thought he was. And in a way, he pushed me to oppose myself as well, freeing me from the chains of my usual apprehension and allowing me to flourish.

I stopped pacing, realizing the loud noise accompanying my stressful steps. It would wake my parents and siblings. Although they knew not why I fretted, any hint at my nervous composure would give them the means of comforting me. If they comforted me I no longer would be torn. I would no longer wish to sustain this one-sided relationship in the face of such genuine care.

It would be easier to let them console me instead of suffering alone, but it could not happen that way. If my family interjected their concern, then I would be pressed to walk away without another thought instead of dealing with the situation myself. It was a necessity that I alone handled this. I had to take back the control of my life that I felt was completely out of my grasp at the present time. The only way to ensure this was to make this my choice, and only my choice.

Suddenly a slight tap sounded, abruptly halting my racing thoughts. Wide-eyed I turned to the only window in my room, dirty and smudged from the city's daily industry. I slowly approached it, unable to see the figure standing on the other side, even though I already was aware of the visitor's identity. It couldn't have been anyone else.

"Kate?"

I froze. Although I knew who the person standing on the other side of the window was, his voice still jolted me with the reality of my present quandary. I felt the sadness I had been battling with all night intensify. Why must he come see me now of all the times he could have? I felt that if I could avoid seeing him, then perhaps I could postpone the decision I desperately did not want to make. I could hold on to the false hope that maybe things would suddenly change, that _he_ would change.

The window slowly and silently traveled up, revealing the black worn shoes I knew so well, and then those captivating blue eyes. I cursed myself as I swooned slightly, his eyes meeting mine and his mouth asserting itself into its normal smirk. I continued to stare as he slowly climbed into my room, walking into the shadows the candle could not drive away.

"Kate, why didn't ya open the window for me?"

I turned away from his form that leaned so serenely against my bedpost. How absolutely relaxed he looked, how carefree to my worries. In our time together, he had always calmly interpreted my moods before speaking, so as to calibrate a suitable tone to begin our interactions. Tonight though, he seemed not to read me well. Perhaps the darkness influenced this or maybe he deemed his usual thoughtfulness unnecessary.

"Conlon, I want you to leave."

My own voice surprised me. As I turned to face him, I noticed the shock in his expression as well. I didn't usually speak to him in this manner. I suppose because I didn't usually wish for him to be gone. I had always wanted him to stay so that I could bask in the warm glow of what would never be mine. Tonight I would not torment myself, however, because I finally had realized my misguided motives. Tonight the fantasy would either evolve into a reality or it would end.

His eyes stared at me worriedly, his mouth forming so sweetly into a frown. I knew that I had cut him, but only as much as a newspaper had decidedly chiseled at his hand. He did not have feelings enough for me to be affected by my spurn. I was his friend, a confidante, but mostly someone he could depend on to help him attain what he really wanted…Julia.

I bowed my head as I thought of the retched name that had caused me so many nights' tears. I remembered what he had said the day after they had first met.

"Why didn't ya introduce me before now, Kate? She's incredible!"

I wanted to cry. I wanted to flail on the floor and scream of how I had always been his friend! How I would always be there for him. How, if he asked me, I would love him endlessly! Instead, I stood motionless, listening numbly to his response.

"Why doya want me ta leave, Kate, when I just got here?"

I shook my head, feeling the tears come. Darkness was the only solace I could find for them.

"I can't—I don't know what—I need to—I have to—"

I abruptly ceased my incoherent babbling, unable to bring myself to voice my true feelings. The last thing I wanted was for him to leave, but I knew he wouldn't give me what I truly yearned for. I ached for him to hold me. I wanted to cry in his shirt and for him to whisper sweet phrases that would make the hurt go away. I wanted to feel his fingers in my hair, making me appreciate it more than I ever had before. I wanted so desperately, his love for me.

"Kate, you alright, doll?" He proceeded to slowly approach me, gingerly pushing himself off of my bedpost. As he came closer to the candle, I saw how his eyes were clouded in confusion and concern.

"I'm fine," I whispered, moving away from him and further into the darkness.

He stepped closer to me once again, straining his eyes through the dimness in an attempt to study my face. "It looks like you've been cryin'. That means somethin' musta—"

"What do you want to talk to me about?"

My curt interruption caused him to cock his head, surprised once again. He took off his cap, revealing a golden mess of hair. As he ran his hands through it and over his face, I knew his concern was beginning to morph into incomprehension. He lifted his head, looking slightly defeated in his pursuit for the truth behind my pain.

"Just wanted ta see if you gotta chance to give my note to Julia yet. Hadn't heard from ya in a day or two..."

He trailed off, his hesitation engendering a feeling of confusion within me now. He had often slipped notes to me so I could deliver them to Julia, and he had never thought twice about coming to me for her response. I felt more tears gracing my eyes and traveling down my face as I remembered the many nights I would wait in anticipation for the familiar tap to sound on my window only to receive seemingly endless monologues on Julia's many assets.

"Kate…"

"What, Spot?" I turned around, attempting to stifle the sob I felt in my throat. He took several more steps towards me, his eyes conveying sincerity and understanding. It took everything in me to not throw my arms around him and release the pain that had been engulfing me for the past day. But I restrained myself, knowing that the response I would get would not be the one I longed for.

"Kate, ya don't look too good…did somethin happen…did Kelly say somethin again…"

I shook my head, his comment a further indication that he remained ignorant to my predicament. He looked at me expectantly, the empathy still radiating in his face. I again longed for his comforting embrace, but, as he stepped closer to me I pulled back further, a small sob finally breaking through my clenched throat.

"Kelly did say somethin'!" he whispered angrily.

I only shook my head again. This had nothing to do with the hateful things Jack Kelly had said to me. Jack didn't matter to me anymore, though only months before he had meant the world. I would have given him anything. I even thought at one point I had loved him.

Love for Jack? Now it seemed so ludicrous. My sudden lack of care for someone who had been so important to me only a short time ago may have seemed unwarranted to those who were not well acquainted with Jack Kelly's present demeanor. But unfortunately, my stance on the events that had occurred was extremely defensible. Luckily, Spot was well versed in my sordid history with Jack, so he often avoided the subject at all costs. Unless he felt that Jack had stepped over the line again.

"Kate, I know it's hard ta talk about Kelly, it was a hard breakup, for everybody…"

"I haven't seen Jack in a few weeks, Spot."

He bowed his head now, rubbing his eyes with vigor. I knew he was running out of guesses as to the cause of my present state. I desperately wanted to tell him everything that had been consuming my thoughts, but I feared the repulsion that I was sure would follow such admissions.

Maybe, if I had been aware of my feelings from the start and had admitted to them, I would already have what I now so desired. Or I would have lost him sooner. But either way a decision would have been made instead of the perpetual limbo I now found myself in.

"Kate, how about some fresh air? Ya look like you could use a little. Then maybe we can talk some."

I hesitated. Usually I would have agreed, wiping my tears away, and followed him without another thought. But I felt more torn than ever, the visualization of the two roads again passing through my mind.

"Kate," he said, motioning me with his hand to follow him out the window.

I stood still. If I followed him, I knew it would only cause me more pain later, but if I didn't, I feared I would miss an opportunity to be with the one I loved, regardless of what he spoke of.

"Spot, I…I can't…" I was stuttering because of him. I felt myself begin to unravel, but I still couldn't turn away.

I walked toward the window and he helped me out of it, the usual smirk appearing on his face. I turned away from the smirk, realizing my weakness. He unknowingly held his power over me and I was spiteful for it. I had my own brain, my own feelings and what was I doing?

He climbed out of the window after me, putting his arm protectively over my shoulder. It was comforting and filled me with warmth, but knowing that it was a thoughtless gesture I immediately ceased my daydreaming. I would not have that love.

We walked into the street, his arm never leaving its position of security, and I once again felt myself being consumed with thoughts of the past.


	2. Chapter 2

I felt as if I were living in an exhilarating dream my first year with Jack Kelly. He found ways to mesmerize me, ensnaring me in his world alone. I could see and hear nothing else. All I cared to acknowledge was what he deemed worthy enough to share with me. I suppose that's why none of his early transgressions had ever registered as obvious foreshadowing of the worse things that were to come. According to Jack, he always acted justly and as our relationship continued, I became too conditioned to disagree.

My first interaction with Jack Kelly had certainly not been an indication that I would surrender so easily to his slow, hostile takeover. He had been an egotistical, ragged looking newsboy, which gave little validation to his grand claims of supposed leadership and conquest.

If anything, my first exchange with Jack had repelled me. But, for some reason, the more I pushed him away, the more he persevered in his quest to make me his. Perhaps it was Jack's dedication that finally secured my interest. I had never been able to hold other men's attention for long, and Jack seemed to possess an endless amount of regard for me, even in the face of my constant rebuttals. Yet despite this sound rationale, I still found myself questioning the reasoning behind the swift progression of our unlikely relationship, in particular, the role I had played in such a strange development.

Perhaps my uncharacteristic forfeiture to his advances had more to do with the immediate change that took place after I agreed to give Jack a chance. His good-natured pursuit quickly morphed into an unpredictable guessing game, where one day he adored me and the next he could not hide his contempt. I could feel myself slowly slipping away from the strong-willed, independent girl I had been. A strange insecurity started permeating through me, and I found myself constantly questioning my own value. It was as if I had succumbed to some sort of sorcery. Jack sprinkled me with his magic dust of words, taking me away from everything else in my life. He said he loved me. He promised a timeless devotion to me. He claimed many bewitching things for two years, while also craftily inserting his disparagement to gradually whittle away at my self worth.

After that first year, however, the strength of his control over me began to wane, and the most likely cause was my blossoming friendship with Spot Conlon. Spot's kindness and sincerity seemed to wake me from the trance that I had been under, revealing that all along Jack's thrilling dream world had been more of a prison than an adventure. But, unfortunately for me, my new awareness did me no favors. If anything, it spurred on violent action from Jack to secure what had once been his.

But despite his struggle, his many attempts at reconquering me failed, and his spell continued to slowly fade. He had been a fraud and our relationship had been a terrible lie. We clearly were not right for each other, which even Jack had admitted, but that didn't stop him from blaming the entire debacle on me. In Jack's discernments, the reason our relationship had failed so miserably had everything to do with my deliberate disinterest. He claimed to have realized that my intentions were elsewhere from the beginning and that I had led him on for the entirety of our relationship. I had ferociously objected to his accusations, maintaining my complete innocence, but he would not hear it.

I had not known that my love for Spot was stronger than friendship. I had no idea of my own latent emotions within me, but for some reason Jack Kelly had been in tune all along. Why had it taken me until now to realize my feelings? And how in the world had Jack seen my true intentions before I had?

 _"As clear as crystal, Katie."_

Jack had told me this, time and again, hurling these words and similar sentiments at me with a venom I had not thought him capable of. And after two years of worsening accusations and insults, I had nothing left in me to feel the anger and hurt that usually followed his attacks. My relationship with Jack had completely drained the life from me, so much so that when I had finally ended things, I let his yells envelop me, like a noose, squeezing the last breath from my body. My few attempts at a rebuttal had been feeble. His overpowering yells had easily drowned out my voice.

It had been horrifying.

I remember Spot standing next to me, his hand firmly placed on my back. The slight pressure seemed to give me just enough strength to withstand the verbal beating I was taking. Jack had acknowledged him, but his ire had been exclusively fixated on me. He had cursed me for my philandering ways, and I had not had the strength to disagree as I had so many times before. Spot was aware of Jack's customary diatribe that often included him as a prime suspect, but Jack's wrath had lain solely on my shoulders. He had never associated Spot with any of my supposed sins. I, alone, was responsible for the many transgressions of which Jack accused me.

Fortunately, Spot had always been a solid support to me through the slow disintegration of my relationship with Jack. He had been a reassuring presence the many times Jack had lost control due to his glutinous habits with alcohol. Spot's silent, unwavering comradery had aided me in withstanding the worst of Jack's drunken rages, but eventually, even Spot was in complete support of my decision to end the relationship.

I suppose, it must have been too much for Spot as well. It had probably made him ill, witnessing his old friend stumbling around in drunken frenzies and violently harassing me. Perhaps, Spot, too, had recognized the stars in my eyes that I had not seen myself at the time. But even if he hadn't, Jack never hesitated to bring it to our attention.

 _"I even introduced ya to 'im!"_

When he had roared these words at me that night and his fist had simultaneously connected with my cheek, Spot had immediately pulled me away and forced me to leave. The last image I had was of Jack's angry red face and the door slamming after we had exited.

Nonetheless, even after the two years of drinking and abuse that eventually led to that fateful night, I found myself often reminiscing fondly about that first year with Jack Kelly. Perhaps it was all a lie, but what an interesting, exciting lie it had been.

Jack Kelly had been anything but boring in his pursuit of me. Although time and again I had dismissed his advances with an eye roll, there had been something strangely charming and endearing about the overly confident newsboy. He readily offered me compliments, telling me how I was a "pretty girl", how I had caught his eye and how he could not turn away. I had laughed at his flashy attempts to woo me each day and then ended our interactions with a definitive "no".

My mother and father had also taken notice of Jack's sudden interest in me, but had an uncharacteristically difficult time hiding their displeasure. They cared not about his status or lack of wealth, but their distaste for him was still apparent, and I found this even more confusing. However, upon inquiring, my mother had sighed and stated cryptically, "My darling, he does not seem to truly see you as you are."

My mother's words added to my natural inclination to refuse Jack, but, as the weeks went by, I found myself unable to stop thinking about him. And there he was, day after day, not giving me any chance to forget. Eventually, he received the answer he had been seeking, much to my parents chagrin. I had thought that it wouldn't hurt to give him a few hours of my time and at the end, he had agreed to leave me be if I still was not impressed.

He had led the way to a restaurant named Tibby's, opening the door for me amongst other gentlemanly things.

"Ay, Katie, what doya want ta eat?" He boisterously smiled at me as he spoke and I found it hard to hide my own enthusiasm.

I had cocked my eyebrow coyly, stating, "So you plan on treating me to lunch? How very thoughtful of you."

His smile was unwavering as he had replied, "Only the best for you, doll."

I had chuckled slightly to myself, before stating, "Alright, I suppose I can stay for a short lunch. Why don't you just order something and surprise me?"

He shook his head, smirking and he walked up to the counter pulling some clanking change out of his pockets. I remained behind, apprehensively staring at the many unfamiliar faces in front of me. Most looked like Jack, with mismatched clothing and unkempt hair, leading me to assume that they must also be newsies. Their stares were slightly unnerving, but not completely unfriendly. I managed a small smile, nodding my head in salutation.

Upon turning around, however, I found myself smacking into something solid. I quickly backed away, feeling slightly annoyed by the unexpected collision, but as I lifted my gaze in irritation I was met by the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen.

They were blue, brightly enriched with a deep power and swelling with pride. The boy's mouth was twisted harshly into a look of annoyance but quickly softened to a light scowl. He viewed me with curiosity, taking in the trance on my face, then the rest of my body. His quick observation made a blush come to my cheeks unexpectedly.

"'Scuse me," he muttered.

I shook my head, attempting to rid myself of the involuntary coma that seemed to suddenly set in. Who was that? In a matter of moments, he had captivated me to the point of speechlessness, bringing out a redness in my face and a wooziness in my stance.

I noticed how I seemed to experience a wide spectrum of emotions from just making eye contact with this stranger. It was extremely unsettling and I found my eyes following him as he sat at a table by himself. Several "hellos" and "heyas" were directed towards him, but he merely tipped his cap at all of it, unaffected by the loudness and the attention.

And suddenly, my own attention was taken again by Jack's quick tap on my shoulder and swift moving arm around my waist. Before I knew it, he had pulled me over to the very table the boy sat at, giving me no chance to object to his inappropriate grip on my body.

"Heya, Spot," Jack said, smiling humorously as the boy, Spot, looked up. He stared vaguely at me, a smirk adorning his lips then at Jack.

"Why Jacky-boy, is this the girl you've been blabberin' about all these weeks? The one that won't give ya' the time a' day?"

Jack shook his head, staring at me sheepishly and shrugging. I found myself chuckling at his childish look, noticing how Spot also laughed good-naturedly. Spot's gaze flitted toward me for a moment, causing the unsettling feeling he had triggered before to intensify. His eyes studied me deeply, seeming to almost read my thoughts. I stared back at him as well, but seeing how silly it seemed just standing there, I proceeded to introduce myself.

"My name is Katherine. Pleasure to meet you, Spot."

He smirked again, nodding toward me, then his eyes glazed over as he turned his attention back to Jack.

"It took ya forever ta get 'er here, Jack. Ya might wanna make sure she stays…"

Spot's eyes flashed to the chair I was standing next to, causing Jack to clumsily pull the seat out for me. I sat down, thanking him for his politeness, even if he did have to be reminded. Jack had been uncharacteristically well mannered and genteel for the entirety of our outing up to this point. Normally, his brashness and cockiness were hard to hide, but today I had seen none of his usual antics. He had told me that he planned on changing my mind about him, and so far he had surprisingly exceeded my expectations.

Jack sat beside me, his arm resting around the back of my chair, intimating his proprietorship of me. I remember turning around, silently indicating my disapproval of the action, but Jack seemed not to notice, immediately engaging Spot in conversation. When our food arrived, we all commenced eating and Spot and Jack continued talking. I remained quiet, unacquainted with the topic of their discussion. The name "Davey" came up several times and just as I was about to excuse myself to start the walk back to my parent's store, Jack swiftly turned around engaging me.

"Katie, I forgot ta mention Medda's show tomorrow. You gotta come with me!" Jack had insisted.

"Let's see how today goes, Jack," I had responded evenly, though I perked up, wondering what show he was talking about.

I noticed Spot's eyes again surveying me as I spoke, and a smirk appeared on his face. I looked at him warily, confused by his humor filled look.

But a swift glance at the restaurant's clock made me realize Jack's two hours were up with me. He looked at me expectantly, immediately noticing my glimpse. I knew he wanted to know the outcome of our interaction. His nervous and excited actions were amusing to me as I made my way to the door of the restaurant.

"So, how'd today go, Katie? Am I worthy of ya time?" he asked apprehensively. I raised an eyebrow, trying to keep a displeased look upon my face.

"I guess I'm interested, Jack Kelly," I had replied, resting my hand on the door handle, "Maybe I'll even show up at Medda's." His eyes widened and he laughed heartily at my playfulness.

"Guess I bedda come git ya—"

"I'm sure I can manage on my own, Jack. Just tell me where it is," I quickly asserted, a sudden feeling of apprehension clouding my initial excitement.

Due to my parents not being particularly pleased with the thought of me spending time with Jack, I knew they would be further disheartened to discover I planned on seeing him yet again. When I had informed them of his invitation for lunch earlier in the week, they had exchanged glances, seemingly of disapproval. They tried to hide this sentiment from me with soft smiles and very few comments, but I could see their hesitation and strain. I realized it would be hard, if not impossible, to convince them that accompanying him to a late night show was a good idea. Although I did not understand their distaste of Jack, I also knew that their disappointment in me, alone, would be too much to bear.

My mind quickly weighed several different options on how to proceed with my present predicament. I adored my parents, but the thought of missing this opportunity to break free from my monotonous life, even if just for a night, made me want to scream in frustration. I was sixteen after all. Why didn't they trust me? And what was wrong with Jack? He was handsome, charming and genuinely intrigued by me. The more I mulled over the situation, the more I solidified the idea that my parents were wrong to judge Jack so harshly and they were wrong to hold me back. I silently decided that the only way to quell my ever growing dissatisfaction with my tedious life was to make it to Medda's, regardless of my parents hesitation. But, the only plan that resulted in me being able to do so was not mentioning it to my parents at all. I would most likely have to employ stealth in order to make it. The thought of lying to my kind and supportive parents made me horribly anxious, but that feeling was quickly overshadowed by the exciting thought of a hiatus from the repetitive dullness that my life before Jack now seemed to be.

Jack chuckled slightly, bringing me back to the present, and quickly grabbed my hand, kissing it. I again felt a strange discomfort about his forwardness, but pushed the feeling aside as he reported the directions to Medda's. I had loosely replied my intentions of going, but fully planned on doing what needed to be done so that I would make it. I was almost certain that Jack saw through my thin veil of disinterest and knew he had piqued my curiosity about the show enough to secure my attendance.

And that had been the thrilling start of it all, when Jack Kelly and I had finally come together. If only I had known then that it was the beginning of a very unsavory end. Though, I wondered if knowing the outcome from the start would have stopped me from continuing. If I could have seen my present state on that day, long ago, would I have just walked away, sparing myself the brokenness that was so sure to follow?


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

It was beautiful outside. The air was cool with the promise of an impending season change. Summer was almost over, and the breeze blowing throughout New York City felt like a refreshing new beginning. Maybe this would be my chance to finally start fresh as well, shedding the hurt and pessimism of the past 2 years. I hoped this to be true, but I already wasn't off to a good start, having caved so easily to something that would be sure to hurt me for weeks to come.

When I turned away from the intriguing night sky, very few stars dotting the great black void, I noticed Spot staring at me with keen interest. His eyes reflected a worry and confusion that usually were not present, and he had yet to speak a word to me. He simply inquired to me gently with his eyes, but I could not find the strength to respond to his questioning stare. What would I say to him? What _could_ I say?

Possibilities floated through my mind as we slowly walked along the dark street, some almost seeming reasonable, but when I felt compelled to speak, I stopped myself. What was the use in verbalizing any of these thoughts? There was no point in continuing in this manner anymore. As I was constantly reminding myself, his heart belonged to someone else, and as much as I wished it wasn't so, that remained the unfortunate truth.

"Kate, you're startin' ta worry me, doll. What's going on with you?"

I looked away from his gaze, sighing. I wanted to tell him everything, but how could I ignore the reality of the situation? If I did answer his inquiries with candor, what would be different?

Unfortunately, the answer to that question was nothing. His mind would not be changed, and, if anything, my hurt would worsen. He had been the person I shared everything with, but this was where the line had to be drawn. Wouldn't that ensure my peace of mind as well as his?

"Don't you want to know what Julia said when I gave her your note?" I whispered, choosing not to respond to his question.

He stopped walking, putting his hand gently on my arm. I stopped as well, turning towards him and lifting my eyes to meet his. He looked tense and I felt his hand tighten its grip on my arm.

"If there ain't anything else you want to tell me," he said, his hand becoming even firmer on my arm. "Then, yeah, I wanna know."

I looked down at his hand on my arm, then back up at him. His stare seemed to take on a harshness, almost as if he was giving me a final chance to convey my true feelings. I contemplated my next move for a moment, looking into his eyes questioningly. The severity of his gaze intensified the longer I stared.

And strangely, an annoyance began to fill me, slowly replacing my melancholy. Perhaps it was all the musing I had been doing as of late about the past two years, or maybe, I had finally exceeded my limit on the many weeks of pain I had been experiencing since his romance with Julia started. Whatever the cause, I felt an intense surge of energy flood through me, fueling an anger I never knew I was capable of feeling. All of the notes I had given Julia from Spot and all of the hours I had listened to him drone on about her now seemed enraging. Even his current grip on my arm seemed to warrant the fury that filled me.

I realized in that moment that I really couldn't continue in this manner anymore, but staying silent would have no effect on that. If I truly wanted a legitimate change, I needed to force the matter. The thought of doing that made my stomach churn in uneasiness, but then more memories of the past two years engulfed me, the hurt of my consistent immobility reigniting my anger.

I abruptly yanked my arm away from his grip, utilizing the excess energy that now filled me. His eyes turned from deliberation, to shock.

"Kate, what—" he started, but I quickly interrupted.

"No, Conlon. I can't— I can't do this anymore."

My voice was quiet and shaky at first, but I finished my sentiment firmly. The sudden influx of zeal within my body made me feel fidgety, and I began backing away from him, shaking my head.

He looked at me expectantly, the astonishment still plastered on his face.

"I—I need to go. I can't do this with you anymore."

I turned around, my anxious energy propelling my journey back to my home. I heard his steps behind me and felt his hand for a second time on my arm trying to stop me. I yanked away from him again, turning and facing him even more assuredly, saying, "Spot, from now on you can handle your correspondence with Julia. I'm not doing it for you anymore."

My voice was still quiet, and I noticed how his eyes widened again as he responded, "Kate, what exactly are you tryin' ta tell me here?"

I looked away from him, pausing for a moment to contemplate if I should leave the conversation as it was or finish what I had started. I felt that I had already crossed the Rubicon of what should not be spoken between us, so why not say it all? If I couldn't turn back anyway, why carry the burden any further? Spot had always been open and upfront with me about everything thus far, so wasn't he warranted the same consideration?

I turned my gaze again towards him, but with much more certainty than before. Taking a deep breath, I resolutely stated, "I can't pretend anymore, Spot. I can't ignore how I really feel anymore. I don't want to be your messenger and I don't want to be your friend."

He looked horrified, his body seeming to buckle slightly from the blow I had just dealt. "What exactly is it that you want from me, Kate?" His question rang out with hurt and confusion.

And, finally, the moment of truth was upon us. I looked at him sadly, knowing that this was most likely one of the last times I would see him if I did indeed answer with honesty. I shook my head, letting the weariness of the past two years finally fill me completely. Everything had been so overwhelming and I had been expected to just take it in and keep going as if I was fine. I needed to release this, as well as the heavy burden of Jack, so that maybe, there would still be a chance for me to begin rebuilding my life. So that maybe instead of pretending, I could actually _be_ fine. Now seemed to be my last chance to ensure that this came to pass.

"Spot, I want you— I want you to leave Julia and be with me instead." My words spilled out of my mouth haphazardly and seemed to reverberate after I spoke. I felt the heaviness in my chest begin to ease slightly, and I stared at him apprehensively for a moment, seeing his face pale and his eyes widen even more. When he remained silent after several more seconds, I nodded at him knowing that his lack of response was my answer.

Although it was the closure I longed for, my anger quickly morphed back into sadness and the hurt began to intensify almost unbearably. I felt tears begin to fill my eyes.

"I guess that's something you can't give me," I whispered, trying to control the sob that started to creep up my throat. He remained frozen, staring at me dumbfounded. I watched him for another moment, taking in his beautiful eyes and handsome features, our many memories flashing across my mind. A few tears escaped my eyelids and I breathed in deeply for more strength.

"Spot Conlon, thank you, for all you've done for me," I murmured. "But for my own sanity, I can't do this with you anymore."

I felt the tears slowly fall down my face as I half-heartedly smiled and turned away from him. I began to slowly make my way back to my room to cry myself to sleep for what I hoped would be the last time.

When I climbed up the fire escape and had securely closed my window, I fell onto my bed, letting the sobs overtake me.

I realized that no longer would he come into my room at night, torturing me with what would never be mine. No longer would he ignore my family, not wishing to eat dinner with us as I had constantly offered. He would not come to my father's store and spend time with me. Julia would be his main focus, as she probably should have always been, and I had secured my fate to disappear into his past.

Thus, for hours, the tears flowed freely as I quietly whimpered into my pillow. When I began to tire out from the immense upheaval of emotion, I hoped with everything in me that the new day would bring with it some relief. I prayed that I would wake up, sure of the decision I had finally made. Because in that dark moment of twilight, all I felt was an empty hopelessness that threatened to never cease.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

There had been many quarrels between Jack Kelly and myself, varying greatly in importance and physicality, throughout the two years we had been together. Yet, for some reason, one in particular stood out to me, and surprisingly, the rationale behind its firm placement in my memory had little to do with the actual argument that had transpired. What had truly been striking regarding that event, was a conversation between my mother and myself the following evening. I remember her kind, beautiful face exuding warmth to me during our work day at the store. Although my mother had always been a genuinely affectionate person, I had thought her behavior unusual at the time. Perhaps the reason I took such notice that day was due to another emotion resting gently under the surface of her customary glow. There had appeared to be a sadness intermingled with her loving gaze and it had given me pause.

I remembered at the end of the work day, she had gently pulled me aside while my father had been engrossed with balancing the ledger in the back of the store.

"Katherine," she had said gently, resting her hand on my arm as I distractedly dusted off some of the shelves with a wet rag. When I had looked into her face, my eyes tired from a long night of tears and anger, I remember being taken aback by the severity that her gaze had suddenly taken on.

"Mother," I had responded shakily, feeling confusion and panic fill me at her very atypical expression.

Although I had withheld all information regarding my relationship with Jack Kelly from my parents, I had felt that, on some level, my mother was very aware of what had been developing between Jack and myself over the year and a half we had been together. She had always been an extremely perceptive woman, a trait that she had graciously passed on to me, so I had often felt fearful that she knew about my lies and deception and had been waiting for a good time to breach the subject with me.

I remember silently cursing myself for not being more careful, and then swiftly preparing for the stern lecture I felt I was surely about to receive. However, her next words had had nothing to do with Jack, causing more anxiety and uncertainty to fill me.

She had said lightly, "I'm not sure I've ever told you about the man that I was engaged to before I met your father."

I had simply shaken my head, her unexpected statement rendering me speechless.

"Well, my darling, you know your grandparents were always keen on me marrying someone of more means," she had said with a slight smile.

I had nodded knowingly in response. Although my mother's parents had been a central part of our lives for as long as I could remember, I knew that they had initially been less than pleased with my mother's choice of husband. It had been vital for my mother, having been born into a family of great wealth, to achieve certain things that were customary for a woman of her station. And the one expectation that was of the utmost importance to fulfill was that she marry a suitable partner within the same class as herself.

However, my mother had always been a headstrong girl, much to my grandmother's dismay and my grandfather's amusement. So when she had belligerently settled upon my father as her choice, a man of inappropriate prospects, I could only imagine the outrage it had caused. I had always been slightly surprised that it had been allowed to take place at all, and that my mother's parents, even amidst their complete disapproval of the situation, had grown to admire my father and become very involved with their grandchildren. I knew many other families that would have certainly disowned their daughter for such actions, or, more commonly, forced her to marry someone of their choosing, regardless of her preference.

"Well, I suppose no one mentions that unfortunate event for good reason, my love," my mother had continued, breaking through my thoughts.

When I met her eyes again, she had quietly continued, "A young man of, what my parents called at the time, an appropriate social standing, took an interest in me shortly after my seventeenth birthday. And all appeared normal. He seemed well-educated, clever and thoroughly in love with me, so I had no complaints." I saw another soft smile grace my mother's lips as she paused, her eyes in a distant place and time.

"What happened?" I had asked, completely enraptured in her story, but still apprehensive of its ulterior function.

Her eyes snapped back to stare at me, an uneasiness permeating through them. She had slowly stated, "I suppose things were not as they seemed with him, and as our time together continued and I eventually accepted his proposal of marriage, his issues became much too glaring to continue to overlook."

I had remained silent, recognizing the pain that flashed behind her eyes, having seen a similar emotion overtake my own gaze for too many nights over the past year and a half. But, within seconds, a gentle smile returned to her face.

"Luckily, I found your father after that terrible time," she had said, surprising me again with an abrupt ending to her story. I remember considering pressing her for a more detailed description of this fiancé of yore that had never been mentioned before, but I had hesitated, not wishing to spur on a conversation that would eventually lead to my own disreputable relationship.

"And if there is one thing that I could impart to you, my darling," she said firmly, bringing my attention back to her once more, "It's that you are worthy of a man that cherishes the amazing woman that you have become."

She had stared fixedly at me, and though she had remained silent, I remember becoming undeniably cognizant of what she was truly communicating. Her severe stare told me that not only was she aware of Jack Kelly's present affiliation with me, but that she was also conscious of the inappropriate way I was being treated by him. And, although I had continually been skeptical of the unambiguous signs that told me things with Jack Kelly were destined to never get better, my mother's face that day had been much too difficult for me to ignore. After several more months of hearing my mother's voice incessantly replaying in my head, there had been no more doubt in my mind that it was a necessity for me to free myself from Jack Kelly.

And I did just that, after nearly two years of being with the leader of the Manhattan newsies, but, strangely, I had felt anything but liberated. The decision to no longer be with Jack Kelly unfortunately did not come without hefty personal costs to me, causing a strain that threatened to devastate what little intact life-force I had left after those destructive two years.

Walking to my father's store every morning after ending things with Jack had been excruciating. The Manhattan newsies' callous stares had been an unexpected blow to my already weak outer exposure. They all knew what had happened, and their hatred of me was palpable.

Their stares followed me everywhere for weeks on end. They would coldly regard me as I walked the several blocks to the store and then glare menacingly as I traversed around town to make deliveries. Each of their faces mirrored a tiny shard of a bigger reflective image, revealing a broken and spiteful Jack Kelly.

He may not have told them to hate me, but he spared no time in filling their minds with his own distorted views of my actions. From Jack they heard the long list of my various crimes, each one more despicable than the last. And after this airing of grievances, the Manhattan newsies, my once close friends, had no choice but to despise the very thought of me. They turned their backs on me so suddenly that I had no chance to catch my breath. They never dared touch me or mock me openly, however, for they knew that if there had been any whisper of foul play on their part, Spot Conlon would not have hesitated to respond swiftly and harshly.

I supposed one surprising benefit of ending things with Jack was Spot Conlon's continued loyalty to me, even in spite of his increased involvement with Julia. More unexpectedly, however, was that after my final night with Jack, I often discovered him waiting outside my window at night. Sometimes he would request my aid in delivering messages to Julia, but I frequently found that he had other reasons for staying. There would be many nights that he would linger for several hours, divulging personal thoughts and feelings to me, and I realized that not only did I appreciate the company, but I also truly enjoyed spending time with him. Spot had always been known as a man of few words, but from those nights we spent together, I soon learned just how much more he had to say.

I had not been sure what had spurred on this increasing closeness between us during those long months after Jack, but I had assumed it mostly had to do with the sense of obligation Spot seemed to have in regards to me. I knew that he had been truly concerned about me after that final chaotic encounter with Jack. I remembered Spot insisting on walking me home that night, my cheek still stinging from the final blow Jack had bestowed upon me. He had stared forlornly at me as we walked back toward my home. The exhaustion from the two prior years had left me nearly immobile and certainly enervated, and Spot had viewed my pale face and apathetic expression with sincere worry. He had so firmly pressed me to allow him to accompany me to my room that I had acquiesced without a struggle. My fatigue had been too overwhelming to respond to any of the kind things he had relayed to me throughout our slow walk towards my home, let alone fight with him about something so trivial.

 _"You ain't alone in this, Kate. I'm here. I just want you ta know that."_

His final words to me that night had definitely given me some comfort, especially since I knew that he was being completely candid. And when he had wrapped me in an earnest hug and gently kissed my cheek before exiting my room through the window, an immediate warmth had spread throughout my body, causing my mind to snap back into focus momentarily. The action had been out of character for him, and in my few moments of clarity, I remember gently touching the place on my cheek where his lips had pressed, and feeling a sudden urge to run after him and desperately collect more of his electrifying affection. But I had immediately stopped myself, knowing that it would not be right for me to ask this of him. He had Julia after all.

And soon, the initial happiness I had felt with Spot's frequent night time visits began to wane. I started to realize that the exhilaration that filled me when I was with him had little to do with my ever increasing feelings of loneliness that my breakup with Jack had spurred on. Just as his brief kiss on my cheek had filled me with an innate urge to experience similar affection, the time I spent with him during his visits left me aching to see and hear more. The strange feelings in the pit of my stomach that I had always somewhat felt before now seemed to intensify exponentially. And after a few months of seeing him fairly regularly, a horrifying thought occurred to me. I had tried with all my might to suppress and ignore the idea that circulated in my head, but to no avail.

I wanted to be with Spot Conlon.

I didn't want it to be true. I didn't want the tyrannical ramblings that Jack Kelly had subjected me to for years to be accurate. But the more I fought against this thought, the more the reality of my feelings cemented themselves. And as my denial began to fade with the passing weeks, I felt myself involuntarily distancing away from Spot.

 _"You alright, Kate? I feel like somethin's wrong."_

Spot had voiced his concern several times after my unfortunate revelation, but fear and doubt had caused me to mask my true feelings with a fake smile and silence. I had never been a good liar though, so it didn't take long for Spot to see through my thin veil of pleasantness. I also began to notice that Spot's intricately crafted façade had slowly begun to creep back into place, destroying the openness that our year of close friendship had created.

I had felt myself slipping away even more, but the finishing blow had not been Jack and the Manhattan newsies as I had expected it would be. My inability to voice my true feelings for Spot Conlon had been too much for me to bear. I had known then that something had to be done, or I would completely lose myself with no hope of ever returning.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

They let me sleep.

Perhaps my parents had heard my stifled sobs throughout the night and had taken pity on me, for usually I would be made to get up, get dressed and work for the day. But today of all days, I wouldn't have objected. I would have happily subjected myself to all sorts of menial tasks if any of them would have put a stop to the painful memories endlessly running through my mind.

The silence in our home was somewhat eerie. There were five of us in total: my father, my mother, my two younger sisters and myself, so the lifelessness that our apartment had taken on was much the opposite of the temperament that usually was present.

I knew my family had left for the store, and maybe it _had_ been a sense of concern that had caused them to let me rest, but for once, my present solitude felt unbearable. So, knowing that being in the presence of people, even through my misery would be better, I decided to get dressed and walk to my father's store. It would keep me busy for the remainder of the time that I actually had to be conscious.

As I dressed myself in my common work cloths, including a long skirt and white shirt, I heard a knock at the door from downstairs. Looking up surprised, I quickly finished dressing and headed down the creaky wooden stairs.

However, an unexpected memory suddenly passed through my mind, paralyzing me in its abrupt onset and making my legs momentarily lose their steadiness. I leaned against the wall in the stairwell for support as the cold winter night, nearly a year ago enveloped me. I found myself suddenly evoking a different set of stairs and the feelings of rage and desolation that had filled me when rushing down them.

On that frozen night, I had angrily descended the stairs of the Manhattan newsie's lodging house, pushing past rowdy party goers to get to the exit. I had heard several familiar voices drunkenly call to me as I forced my way past them, but I had not turned around. My need to reach the open air far outweighed my usual proclivity for courtesy. Once I had secured my way outside, I slammed the door behind me and let out a frustrated shriek into the freezing night sky, caring little of who might be close enough to hear it.

But exasperation was only one of the many emotions churning within me that night. I felt paralyzed by the magnitude of these feelings, the scream forced out purely from the immense pressure they created within me. I walked away from the shut door and slid down the side of the lodging house building, letting the darkness of the night cover me in shadows. Knowing that I had barely quelled the pressure within me, I had pulled my knees into my chest, pressing my face down to them in an attempt to quiet my urge to screech again, for fear that I would never be able to stop.

I had experienced this suffocation momentarily before, but never to this extreme. My year long relationship with Jack Kelly seemed to be quickly imploding before my eyes and all I could do was silently watch it happen. Why had I never seen it before?

It must have been willful blindness, for that night nothing else in my life had ever been as clear to me. Unfortunately, the deep hole in which I had resided with Jack was now much too precipitous to climb out of on my own, especially with his hand grasped around my ankle, ensuring I remain a captive in his darkness.

Jack had insisted that I attend the Manhattan newsies' party that night. He had ignored my repeated refusals and had belittled the several different excuses I conveyed. I had felt that perhaps a few nights' respite from him would aid in revitalizing our relationship and steadying his unpredictability, but he would not hear of it. Eventually, I had felt that the only option I had was to go to the celebration, regardless of my growing apprehension of Jack's wildly capricious moods. He had made it clear to me that if I did not join him, I did not care for him as I should. If I did not attend, then he must be worth more dead than alive to me.

I had picked my head up with that thought, feeling the familiar pressure of tears on the verge of developing behind my eyes. Jack's despondency had secured my presence at the event, but from the moment I had arrived I was met with disdain and scorn from him. He quipped to Racetrack and Kid Blink that he had "done better" than me before and that he wouldn't be surprised if I actually "made a livin' as a whore". Although Blink and Race had appeared appalled at his crudeness, they said nothing in my defense, even going so far as to laugh uncomfortably. Jack had made other obscene comments at my expense as the night went on, but when I had caught sight of him entwined with a red headed girl I had never seen before, I could take no more. So, there I had stayed, immobilized by not only the cold night, but the absolute misery that encompassed me.

I remembered hearing a loud crash near my hiding place that broke me from my humiliated reverie. I had immediately stood up and flattened myself against the side of the building, terror replacing my despair. However, upon hearing the familiar voice that hurled several loud curses to the cold night around us, I had relaxed. Stepping out from the shadows, I had looked toward Spot Conlon who was busying himself with kicking the side of the building while he continued to swear angrily.

"Spot," I sighed gently as I walked to him, the natural comfort of being in his presence washing over me. When he turned, however, I quickly noted his red-rimmed eyes and disheveled appearance and my relief instantly mutated into worry. As he clumsily began to approach me, squinting his eyes through the darkness, the intense smell of cheap liquor met my nostrils, confirming what I had immediately presumed. I also discerned the broken glass bottle in his hand, clearly the source of the loud clatter that had sounded through the alley moments before.

"Who's that? Elizabeth? Mary?" he slurred gruffly. "I don't feel like dealin' with any bitchin' tonight, so just save it for someone that'll give a shit!"

"Spot, it's Katie," I said, cautiously closing the distance between us as he attempted a few more precarious steps forward. He had peered skeptically in my direction making me feel even more unsettled.

Ordinarily, he was about a head taller than I was, but that night, hunched over and with his face downwards, he appeared smaller and more powerless than I had ever seen him before. I remember growing fearful that his drunken instability would lead to injury on the icy walkway, so I had instinctively reached out and grasped his arms in an attempt to steady him. However, instead of balancing himself, he collided with me, knocking me to the ground and falling clumsily on top of my body. More curses spewed from his lips, and this time mine as well, the stench of his inebriation further filling my nostrils. But, when his blue eyes met mine, his anger faded and a nonsensical smile crept onto his face.

He leaned in closer to my face, making me groan from the added pressure to my abdomen and chest, whispering, "I was hopin' I'd see you tonight, Kate."

I had turned my face from his slightly, the stench of his breath causing my eyes to water. "You can still see me without crushing me, Conlon," I had said irritably, finding it difficult to take in a much needed breath.

His inane smile grew wider and he chuckled as he haphazardly rolled off of my body, somehow managing to upright himself without further injury to either one of us. He leaned down offering me his hand as he teetered slightly, saying, "You're funny, doll."

"You're drunk," I had retorted, feeling slightly disheartened by the uncharacteristic state I had found him in. I ignored his hand, knowing that he was in no position to safely offer it, and pushed myself to standing as well, feeling the cold wetness traveling down my limbs. I shivered as I went to wipe my hands on my dress, but quickly realized the futility of the action, the fall having also spread the damp frigidness all over my clothes.

I sighed, giving up on any attempt at salvaging the respectability of my attire, and looked back at Spot's face as I shivered again, taking more notice of his slovenly appearance and cloudy eyes.

I met his gaze, his beautiful blue eyes instilling a strange sadness in me, and asked quietly, but sincerely, "What's wrong, Spot?"

For the year I had known Spot Conlon, his ambiguous nature was the one thing about him that had stood out to me above all else. Of course he was intriguingly handsome and his eyes had a very unsettling way of piercing through my soul, but to me, those things paled in comparison to the absolute mystery that was hidden behind the self-assured veneer he constantly wore. His impenetrable outer shell had most likely been forged from years of meticulous self-control and emotional suppression, and much to my exasperation, the more I studied and prodded him, the more his inner workings were shielded from my sight. He was impressively skillful at keeping all detailed knowledge about himself concealed, leaving only a calm, but otherwise unreadable mask in everything's wake.

And because I was so well versed in Spot's usual stoic guise, his behavior that night had been even more alarming. What would cause him to drink to the point of excess, and lose the control over himself that he had carefully crafted and maintained for so long? What could have pushed him into displaying such a plethora of uninhibited emotions?

As my worry of Spot's emotional state grew, I noticed him slowly letting my question sink in, and the smile on his face progressed gradually into a look of solemnity. He then turned his blue eyes towards me, staring at me bleakly while stumbling back slightly.

"Everything is fuckin' wrong, Kate," he said, his voice taking on a callousness that usually was not present when he spoke to me. But I persisted despite his harshness.

"Spot," I said gently, slowly approaching him again. "Tell me what's happened."

My comment seemed to again trigger an intense emotional response, as he said angrily, "What does it fuckin' matter, Kate?"

"It matters to me," I said softly, hoping that he recognized my candor.

I saw his jaw tighten as his gaze had fallen away from mine. He had turned and had attempted to walk further away from me, cursing as he went.

I had slowly trailed behind him, knowing with a peculiar definitiveness that all of his anger and harshness were just more defensive facades fighting to stay in place so as to misdirect anyone attempting a closer look. But that night, for some reason, I saw so clearly past these layers that typically were effective at restricting my access. When I had looked into his eyes, they begged for my support and compassion. His body seemed to silently scream for me to stay, despite what his mouth actually stated.

Suddenly, he angrily threw the broken bottle in his hand onto the street causing another resounding crash.

I had run to him, worried that his loud antics would attract attention from other unwanted sources. I had gently touched his arm, saying, "Spot, come on. Come inside with me. I don't want you to get arrested."

He turned to face me, his eyes again pleading for reprieve, but his mouth once more articulating the opposite.

"What does it matter, Kate? What does any of this fuckin' matter anyway? Maybe it'd be a fuckin' good thing to rot in jail."

I did not remove my hand from him, even though he half-heartedly pulled against me. I had, at that point, realized that my worried responses to his behavior were only exacerbating the situation. I had determined that in order to make sure Spot ended up somewhere safe for the night, changing tactics was a necessity.

I had smiled softly, murmuring, "I'm a little offended that sitting in a jail cell sounds better to you than talking to me."

He had stared at me incredulously for a moment, but then I felt relief fill me as his signature smirk flashed momentarily across his face. Feeling that I had finally broken through his drunken haze, I continued, "Let's get you inside and then maybe you'll remember that rotting in prison would be much more unpleasant."

I had hesitantly wrapped my arm around his waist, but when I heard no objection from him, I had continued to quickly place his arm over my shoulders so I could guide him in the direction of my choosing as opposed to following his random stumblings throughout the streets. He had been surprisingly heavy when he rested the whole of his weight on me, and I found myself moving much slower than I wanted through the cold night. I had paused by the entrance of the Manhattan Lodging House, considering bringing him to one of the spare beds inside, but the thought of seeing Jack again made my stomach sink. I had quickly turned us in the direction of my home, knowing the risk involved in bringing him there, but unable to think of any other safe place to go. I had silently hoped that he could rest quietly inside until he sobered up enough to return to Brooklyn.

He had sluggishly turned his head to face me, unintentionally forcing more of his weight upon my shoulders. Smirking half-heartedly, he had mumbled, "I ain't ever toldja this before, Kate, but I needja ta know somethin'."

My pace had slowed even more from the extra burden he suddenly forced upon me, but I had managed to gasp out, "What's that, Conlon?"

He had rested his head on my shoulder languidly, mumbling, "Kelly's a fuckin' moron for treatin' you like he does, Kate. He just takes you for granted an' ya keep lettin' him."

Hearing Jack's name had caused my body to jolt in pain, but I remained silent, aware that rebuking Spot in his drunken state was probably not the best of ideas. My sudden and unexpected reaction to his statement seemed to revive Spot, for he had picked his head up quickly and eased the extra burden from my body. I had heard him mumbling more things tiredly, but I had remained quiet as we moved forward, not knowing an appropriate way to respond to anything he spoke of.

"Kate," he had more audibly muttered, causing me to turn my head towards him, "If you were mine, I'd never do the shit Jack does ta you."

I had exhaled, finding the emotions that swelled within me increasingly harder to endure with every mention of Jack Kelly that Spot slurred out. I had remained silent, still not knowing how to respond to his fixation on my relationship with Jack. But, upon suddenly feeling him slow to a stop and nearly toppling us both onto the icy ground, I realized that I needed to keep him at least somewhat conscious if I hoped to make it inside for the night. Although lean and slight of build, it would be impossible for me to carry Spot Conlon's body without at least some help from him. I was several inches shorter than he was and had spent none of my days brawling with other boys and handling hefty loads of newspapers, resulting in definitively less strength.

In an effort to keep him moving, I had engaged him by saying, "Oh, yeah? What shit is that?"

Spot quickly righted himself when I spoke and continued stumbling forward with my guidance. When I saw my home in the near distance, I sighed in relief, a second wind propagating me closer to the fire escape that would lead me to my window.

Spot turned his head to face me again, muttering, "You know what he does, Kate. He yells at ya, hits ya, curses ya. An' that ain't the first time I seen that redhead with him."

Each word Spot had uttered felt like a separate, intensifying blow to my stomach. I quickened my pace, almost dragging Spot along beside me as I felt a nausea come over me and angry, painful tears fill my eyes. I had fought against them, using the tension in my body to propel us even faster to my home.

As I had felt Spot slow down to an intolerable pace once more and his head loll onto my shoulder, I had taken a deep breath and engaged him again. I had stated derisively, "Well, perhaps Jack Kelly isn't a fan of brunettes. You can hardly hold that against him."

Spot had snorted as he thankfully picked up his pace and his head, muttering, "Kate, I don't think hair color enters inta it."

When we had finally reached the steps of the fire escape that led to my room, Spot began to falter, losing his balance on the first step and coming close to pulling both of us down once again into the icy wetness.

"Yeah, well then what is it, Conlon?" I had whispered, struggling to grip the railing with one hand and attempting to hold him upright with my other. My voice had caused him to shake his head and grab onto the freezing railing on his side to steady himself.

"Kelly ain't even half the man he used ta be," I had heard him mumble. His comment had caused an intense response from me again, but instead of sadness and anger, I found myself reacting with complete shock. In all the time we had spent together, Spot Conlon had spoken his peace about his disapproval of Jack's actions, but never had he taken shots at Jack's character before.

Jerking my head to face him, I had been positive that he immediately recognized my bewilderment as he widened his eyes and stated even more emphatically, "Don't look at me like that, Kate. You're livin' proof that it's true."

His somewhat patronizing tone articulating such an out of character notion almost made me want to demand an apology from him, but the urge was immediately quelled as I continued to stare at his face while helping him to climb the remainder of the stairs. When his eyes had met mine once more as we climbed through my window, I felt worry fill me, for I could see that it was not merely drunken rudeness that had compelled him to speak. He had been relaying his true feelings.

"Kate, he ain't been the same since Sarah left him. He never got over her and he ain't been serious about anyone ever since. You're just a fuckin' place holder til' Sarah comes back or Jack finds somethin' better," he had whispered staring intently at me.

I remember at that moment wanting nothing more than to slap him across the face. His words not only wounded me but also enraged me with their needless cruelty. I had heard of Sarah before, and I had been regaled with some of the details regarding Jack's relationship with her. I had certainly felt doubtful myself about Jack's future intentions with her, but, regardless of whether Spot's words held any veracity, they had undoubtedly been uttered with an intent to sting. I had felt another urge to scream bubble in my throat, but I had angrily pushed it down, and as I half-heartedly aided Spot in sitting on the side of my bed, I had mumbled through gritted teeth, "Why don't you just lie down and be quiet for a while?"

The moment I had released my grasp of him, he fell backwards onto my bed, closing his eyes. I remember sighing, deeply appreciative of the abrupt lull in our infuriating conversation. I had turned around, rubbing my arms and shaking slightly from the coldness that seemed to have encompassed my entire body without warning. I had quickly glanced at Spot, making sure he remained motionless on my bed, and then had commenced peeling off my wet garments. I had shivered involuntarily, finally adorning myself in a much needed change of dry clothes.

"Kate, I ain't tryin' to offend you. I just think you deserve more."

I jumped, as my nightgown fell past my knees, gasping at the unexpected intrusion of Spot Conlon's voice. I had turned quickly to see his head raised slightly off of the bed, a crooked smile spreading across his face. I had rolled my eyes, feeling a warm blush spread across my cheeks as I exhaled in embarrassment and irritation.

"It's not polite to stare, Conlon. Why don't you just rest for a while, then we can talk as much as you want," I whispered, still attempting to catch my breath from his startling imposition.

"I ain't ever met anyone like you, Kate," he mumbled, resting his head back on my bed.

"I'm sure that's not true," I replied, quietly, pulling an extra blanket out of my chest of drawers and wrapping it around my shoulders. "Most people are just a different mixture of the same few things."

I had heard him chuckle softly, muttering, "Alright, Kate, whatever you say." And within minutes, soft snores had filled the room and I had sat on the floor, leaning my back against the bed and closing my eyes.

But the silence had lasted not ten minutes when my ears picked up more mumblings coming from Spot. I had slowly opened my eyes, hearing random words disrupt the quiet.

"My fault…it's all my fault…"

I had remained seated, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders, still feeling the anger at his unkind words from the moments before and hoping that he would eventually lull himself back to sleep. But, when I heard him call my name and felt his movement on my bed, I knew that those quiet moments had been a fleeting luxury.

"Kate," I heard him moan slightly. "Kate, it's my fault."

I had stood up gingerly, and made my way to sit by him on my bed. He haphazardly pushed himself up, staring strangely at me, and then I felt my anger melt away and shock replace it as I saw several tears fall out of his tired eyes.

"Spot, what's happened?" I asked gently, my thoughts immediately turning to worry as I saw his face darken in an attempt to contain his sorrow.

"Kate, she's dead," he whispered, practically choking on his words.

"Who?" I had asked, placing my hand gently on his arm as a means of comfort.

"Emily," he had murmured almost inaudibly.

I had stared at him, squinting in confusion, and after several more minutes of strangled, suppressed sobs he had slowly relayed a story to me that he had never told anyone else before.

Spot and his mother and father had lived in a tenement house for the majority of his childhood. Emily had been a girl near his age that had lived across the hall from them. They had befriended one another early on, and had remained close for the 8 years that Spot and his parents had lived there. Spot had said that his memories of Emily stood out to him above all the other memories from that time in his life, primarily because he and Emily were often alone in the tenement house during the day while their parents worked long hours in the nearby factory. He remembered, even from a young age, being very aware that something wasn't quite right with Emily's family. He said that he often would notice extensive bruises on her arms and legs, and sometimes even on her face, but when he had inquired into the origin of these nasty marks, Emily would simply shrug and say nothing about it. Spot came to realize, as they grew older, that Emily's body was being broken by the very people that should have been protecting it.

Although Emily never spoke of the abuse she suffered at the hands of her step-father and drunken mother, the thin walls of the tenement house left nothing to the imagination. Spot heard the yells and slaps throughout the night, and after several years of worsening abuse, yielding even more horrific marks on Emily's body, Spot became resolved with a plan of action.

"I was gonna take her away from that hell, Kate. I just needed to save up some money first."

Spot had informed me that his first introduction into newsie life had started as a temporary means of earning enough money to secure food for he and Emily. However, his situation had changed without warning.

"When winter came, my pa got to coughin and pretty soon he couldn't stop."

His father had begun to cough up blood several months after the initial chill had struck the city, and without warning, passed away a few days before the new year. When his mother started to show similar symptoms, she had insisted that her son take up residence elsewhere for fear of passing the sickness onto him.

"I was sent away to live at the newsboy's lodging house in Brooklyn, and soon, the money I saved up was all spent on stayin' there."

The morning he had left for his short-term stay at the newsboy's lodging house had, unbeknownst to him, been the last time he would see his mother alive and the last time he would see Emily.

"I told her I would come back for her. I promised her."

But, by the time he had been informed of his mother's passing several weeks later, it had been too late. Almost everyone had fled the tenement house for fear they would suffer the same fate as his parents. He went back several times to inquire about Emily's possible whereabouts from the landlord and the few other tenants who had stayed, but to no avail.

He had continued searching, of course, but with no new information to go on, his pursuits would always end in frustrating failure. He had finally given up all hope of ever locating her when several days prior, he had opened one of his newspapers to scan good headlines for selling, but had almost immediately wished he hadn't. He had informed me that a lesser headline he read had contained her and her family's names in conjunction with a double murder and a suicide

"He killed her, her mother and then himself," Spot had whispered, his eyes glazed over in horror.

I had felt myself attempting to hold back tears of my own. The story had been so horrendously tragic that I ached for the girl I did not know and I grieved for Spot's loss.

I saw more tears silently travel down his face as he stared listlessly ahead, completely consumed in his own grief. I had gently squeezed his arm and he had turned to face me slowly, his usually suntanned face uncharacteristically pale and his eyes wide in terror.

"Kate, she wasn't supposed to die. She was a year younger than me. I was supposed to save her," he had said, his voice drenched in a kind of frantic desperation.

I had again squeezed his arm compassionately and stated, "I'm so sorry, Spot."

"If I had just looked harder. If I had just fuckin' done more she wouldn't be dead," he murmured. His bright blue eyes had seemed to plead with me for some form of reprieve.

I remember my physical and verbal response to him being almost automatic. I had taken the blanket from around my body and gently wrapped it around his shoulders, wiping stray tears off of his cheek as I did so. I had stated pragmatically, "Spot, her death was a senseless tragedy. She deserved something more and was taken well before her time. But what happened to her was something that was out of your hands."

He stared intently at me as I continued, "She was lucky to have had you in her life, even for the short time that she did. I know you must have been such a comfort during the time you spent with her."

I had paused, letting my words sink in, and perhaps my tiredness had finally caught up with me that night, for the next sentence I uttered almost seemed to glide out of my mouth involuntarily.

"I mean, you've always been that, and so much more, for me."

I remember immediately closing my mouth, feeling my cheeks flush with warmth. I had bowed my head in confusion and embarrassment, but just as I was about to apologize for my awkward admission, I had felt Spot's hand touch mine, and as I peered up at him, his eyes had surprisingly looked clearer than they had the entire night. The longer our eyes met, the harder I found it to hold back the tears that I had been aggressively fighting against for weeks, it seemed.

"Kate," he whispered, intertwining his fingers with mine and squeezing my hand gently. "Doll, you don't even know how amazing you are, do you?"

And before I could stop them, my bitter tears poured out of my eyes. I had attempted to turn away from him, but he had startlingly pulled me to him, holding me tightly against his chest. I remember quietly sobbing into his shirt, feeling his hands gently stroking my hair and back.

I had pulled back from him slightly, wiping my eyes on the end of my nightgown, unsure of what to say to any of the things he had shared with me.

As I lifted my gaze to meet his, I saw him staring fixedly at me, and I had felt his hands move from my shoulders to my back. I had inhaled sharply as I felt his hands slide even further down.

I stared at Spot wide-eyed, frozen in the tense moment between us. He had slowly inched closer to my face, until our noses were almost touching and then he had whispered, "Tell me not to, and I won't."

I had felt my heartbeat rapidly increase as his lips came closer to mine. There had seemed to be a current between us and I had felt pulled to him, wanting so badly to feel the electric spark that I was almost positive my lips touching his would bring.

I felt goosebumps line my arms and then spread slowly to the rest of my body as I breathed, "Spot—"

"Thomas," he interjected softly. "You can call me by my real name, Kate."

His hands had remained on my back, tightening their already impassable grip, and I remember feeling myself quivering slightly in his strong embrace.

"Kate, I won't do anything you don't want," Spot murmured, the heat from his mouth moistening my lips.

And then, acting purely on impulse, I had leaned into his lips, closing the small gap that remained between us. I remember relishing in their softness as well as the intense physical reaction my contact with them gave the rest of my body. I felt like I had been struck by lightning. Every inch of my skin felt energized and open.

Spot had only remained dumbfounded for a few moments before responding aggressively to my initiation. I had felt his fingers run through my messy hair and then grip it so he could maneuver to get better access to my mouth. In an instant, the light kiss I had instigated had turned into a passionate, full body experience. I felt his mouth devour mine, almost as if he were attempting to drink the very essence of me in. He had gingerly guided my body into a laying position on my bed as he continued to explore my mouth, his tongue intertwining with mine in a way that made a soft moan come from the depths of my body.

I had felt as if I were on fire. Every inch of me savored the contact that our lips had and when his hands began gently caressing my bare skin under my nightgown I had even more fervently pressed myself to him, my arms automatically wrapping around him tightly.

But it had ended just as hastily as it had begun. I remember experiencing a strange numbness as I felt him pull abruptly away from me. I had remained on my back as he had fallen next to me on my bed, his breath coming in sharp gasps.

"Shit," I had heard him mumble as I had focused on the ceiling, finding it oddly difficult to move.

"Fuck, Kate," I heard him murmur slightly louder. "That wasn't how I wanted that to happen—this wasn't the right—I don't—shit."

His continued stammering had snapped me back from my numb reverie and I had turned my head to face him. His eyes had appeared apologetic, but I had not been able to tell what exactly he had been sorry for.

I hadn't known what to say, I hadn't expected his actions, let alone my own, but most of all, I had not expected the effect our kiss would have on me. It had awakened something deep inside of me, that I had not even known existed. I remember staring at him, searching for any words that would properly explain the feelings I was experiencing, but I had not been able to find my voice.

Our eyes had locked again, and his hand had gently stroked my cheek as he had said, "Why do you waste yourself with Kelly, Kate? You must just not know…"

He had either trailed off or I had finally no longer been able to keep my eyes open because the last thing I remember was feeling his fingers stroking through the knotted strands of my hair and then opening my eyes to sunlight. When I woke the next morning, I had been neatly tucked into my bed with several extra blankets over me and Spot had been nowhere to be found. For days after that night, I had questioned if it had all simply been a dream. But I knew innately that it had not.

However, I was immediately brought back to the present when another round of loud knocking sounded. Shaking my head, I continued down the stairs trying to rid myself of the intense memory. What use was it to go over these things that clearly meant nothing to Spot? Wouldn't he have done something to ensure we were together if any of it had been at all important to him?

When I reached the door, I struggled to look through the peephole to ascertain who this anxious knocker could be, but when I was finally able to identify who the knocker was, I gasped. I shakily pulled away from the door trying to contain the immense nausea that came upon me.


	6. Chapter 6

Spot Conlon nearly jumped out of his skin as he felt the wood beneath his feet tremble with a sudden influx of extra weight. He spun around quickly to irritably scowl at Rummy, his second in command, who lazily leaned against the back of his perch.

"Sorry ta startle ya, boss," Rummy murmured, a slight smirk gracing his tan face.

Spot glared ferociously at Rummy, further peeved that for one, he had actually noticed Spot's uncharacteristic jolt and for another, that he found it so damn amusing.

"How goes it, Rummy?" Spot growled, turning again towards the docks that the majority of his newsies scattered across.

"Eh, it goes, I 'spose'," Rummy responded, a lilt of laughter in his voice as he came to stand next to Spot.

Spot had known Rummy for as long as he'd been with the Brooklyn newsies. He sometimes found Rummy's laid back and easily humored personality annoying, but strangely enough, it also was the thing he appreciated the most about him. Spot had always been serious and unemotional. He assumed that these traits were one of the things that turned him into the respected and feared leader he now was, but he hadn't always felt so emotionally inhibited. And if he was honest with himself, he rather craved those fleeting times of emotional freedom he had experienced before.

In fact, he had been feeling a strange uptightness as of late, leading to even more moments of apathy. It didn't necessarily bother him to be closed off. It was actually easier to function that way, and he often didn't notice the natural way his face deadpanned and how his arms instinctively crossed over his chest. But, as he vexingly found out earlier in the day, Julia noticed everything.

He sighed, squeezing the bridge of his nose in exhaustion, which, unfortunately, Rummy also took note of.

"Tired today, eh?" Rummy muttered, his lips naturally turning up in their usually smirk again.

Spot faced him, unable to hold back his irritability any longer and asked gruffly, "You got somethin' ta say ta me, Rummy?"

He had felt his second-in-command's hesitation to speak openly from the moment he had startled Spot from his daze. Normally, Spot would allow a certain amount of pleasantries before getting down to business, but his tiredness had yielded an irritability that he was having a very difficult time masking. He had already snapped at Julia earlier in the day, and threatened one of the younger boys for merely asking a question. He felt minutely guilty for barking at the six-year-old, but he was much less concerned about Julia and now Rummy for that matter.

Rummy sighed himself, his smirk disappearing. "Heard ya come in early this morning, boss. You sure been goin' to Manhattan a lot recently, but ya normally ain't gone that late," Rummy said, staring meaningfully at Spot.

Spot snorted, stating, "There a reason you been monitorin' my comings and goings, Rummy? You need to get a fuckin' hobby."

"Well bein' second in command, I need to know what's goin' on. An, I 'spose bein' your oldest friend, figured there might be somethin' ya need ta talk about."

Spot felt his anger fade immediately as he bent his head down, again touching the bridge of his nose. He didn't want to talk about what had happened last night. He didn't want to admit all the shit he had been feeling since Kate left him standing in the middle of the street, hell since he'd first met her. Just thinking about her now made him want to soak someone. Those emotive green eyes had haunted both his sleeping and waking hours for months. He didn't want to admit to anyone that Katherine Moore was completely and unapologetically under his skin. He shouldn't have been surprised by it anyway, because from almost the first moment he had met her, he had found it immensely difficult to think about anything else.

Originally, his interest had formed from the confusion he felt after having been introduced to her. Jack Kelly had talked of no one else for weeks, detailing Kate's beauty and dejectedly relaying her consistent refusals to his advances. Spot had been very intent on meeting this girl that Jack Kelly could not seem to get enough of. It intrigued Spot to learn why Jack seemed so hell-bent on this girl, when he consistently had a plethora of girls throwing themselves at him. After the newsie strike, Jack's prospects had seemed to multiply exponentially and even more so after Sarah Jacobs had left him. Spot, on the other hand, was used to being privy to large amounts of attention from women, even when he was just a boy.

Spot had always been very cognizant of how his handsome features and subtle charm affected people. It had certainly aided him when he first began to sell newspapers. He attracted a lot of attention from women, young and old, who consistently remarked about his "beautiful blue eyes". As he got older, he noticed that, while he still garnered a large amount of attention from women, it went beyond simple enchanted observations. He saw the attraction in their eyes and he took note of the effect he had on them. His smirk would produce blushes and eyelash fluttering. His swagger yielded looks of lust and desire. Even women that he had never met before would slyly wink at him as he passed by on the street, or find some clever way to touch his arm or chest. A lot of communication, he found, didn't necessarily need to involve words.

But upon meeting Kate, he had not understood Jack's devout investment. She was a pretty girl, no doubt, but Jack could have had his fill of any number of other girls just as pretty as she. Honestly, he had been completely unimpressed. Kate had remained silent for the entire meal, constantly checking the clock. Although she had been dressed in typical work clothes, Spot wondered if her apparent superiority had any links to a privileged social standing. And by the time she had exited and Jack had come to sit back down Spot could not contain himself.

"I don't get it," Spot remembered telling Jack, watching Kate walk away down the street.

Jack had smiled coyly, his eyes in a distant place. "I dunno what ta tell ya. Guess I just like a challenge," he said, leaning back in his chair.

Not being persuaded by Jack's cryptic comment, Spot had felt the need to disprove, at least to himself, what Jack seemed to be convinced of. Several weeks later he had found an unexpected opportunity to do just that.

He remembered spotting her walking down a nearby street one early morning as he was just making his way out of his prior date's apartment. He had slowly begun to follow her through the fairly empty Manhattan streets, her wild, dark hair pulled up haphazardly and her clothes looking slightly mussed. As he watched her, he noticed the strange way that she walked down the street, her gait wandering about the expanse of the sidewalk and an odd skip that would make its way into her stride every once in a while. He also heard her begin to hum as she continued her journey.

He remembered wanting to laugh. This clumsy, strange girl was somehow managing to bewitch Jack Kelly?

But he found himself continuing to follow her, even despite his diffidence. He silently watched as she walked up the steps of an apartment complex and knocked on the door, swaying slightly as she waited, probably to the song she had been humming before. A man opened the door in his undershirt and suspenders, leering slightly at her.

He remembered creeping closer to the building, wanting to hear their interaction, to see if she really was as unengaging as she seemed at Tibby's.

"Well, what a pleasant surprise, Katherine," the man sneered as he had leaned against the door frame. "I s'pose you're here to finally see what bein' with a real man feels like."

Spot saw Kate roll her eyes as she had responded evenly, "When you see one, let me know, Lenny. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to bring Mrs. Henderson her medicine."

Lenny's eyes flashed with anger and Spot saw him take a handful of Kate's hair, pulling her head back aggressively.

"Someone oughta teach you some manners. I don't know any man that'll put up with a cheeky little bitch like you," he had spat angrily.

"Lenny, knock it off. I don't have time for this today," Kate replied steadily, a fierce glare in her eyes.

"Maybe I oughta start off your trainin' for ya," Lenny had growled at her, pulling her slightly inside the open doorway. "First lesson is submission."

Spot remembered preparing to intervene, slightly horrified at the alarming scene unfolding so quickly before him, but before he had even taken his first step forward, he heard Lenny yowl loudly. When he had refocused on the doorway, he saw Kate standing over a crumpled Lenny, who had both hands between his legs, clearly holding onto his damaged manhood.

Kate still had appeared nonplussed by the entire situation and as she had stepped over Lenny she had said calmly, "This is getting tired, Lenny. If you would just stop acting so repulsively, then maybe I wouldn't be forced to almost castrate you every week."

"Bitch," Spot heard Lenny hiss.

"Pervert," Kate replied as she had disappeared inside.

Spot remembered feeling a strange combination of shock and captivation after the strange incident of that early morning. And from that moment on, he had been intent on finding out all he could in regards to this Katherine Moore.

He sighed again, feeling Rummy's eyes bearing into him. "What doya want me to say, Rummy?"

Rummy squinted at him as he replied, "Ain't about what I want, Conlon."

And then Spot felt the ever present rage fill him immediately again. "Goddamit, Rummy! Can't ya see I ain't in the mood to solve a riddle here?"

Rummy simply shrugged and stated quietly, "Figurin' out what's important to you shouldn't be a riddle, Conlon. An' takin out your anger on everyone around ya ain't gonna help you realize what the hell it is you're really angry about, neither."

And for a second time that afternoon, Spot felt utterly disarmed by Rummy's subtle wisdom. Normally, if any of his newsies, or anyone else for that matter, had ever even thought of taking that tone with him, he wouldn't have hesitated to pull out his cane and silence them before they had a chance to finish their thought. But Rummy was different. Maybe it was because he had known him longer than anyone else, or maybe it was because Rummy was the only person that had been observant enough to deduce the details of Spot's complex relationship with Kate. Regardless, Rummy was again right in his assessments. Spot wasn't angry at Rummy, Julia, or any of the other newsies that had been recipients of his ire as of late.

God almighty, he was so infuriated with Katherine Moore, though. He had probably been silently fuming about her for months now. Just hearing her name reverberate through his head made him angry enough to punch a hole in the wall.

But at the same time, he couldn't be livid with her, because she hadn't actually done anything worthy of his rage. And that made him even more irate. Thus, stuck in this strange paradox, he felt completely powerless to do anything, and Spot Conlon did not appreciate that feeling one bit.

Last night had been no exception. Was he worried about her? Of course. Her beautiful eyes had been filled with a solemnity that had caused an uncomfortable ache to fill the pit of his stomach. The fresh tears that he had seen on her cheeks made him want to touch her smooth, pale face to wipe them gently away.

And those impulses and feelings always seemed to quickly morph into rage. Because he had moved on with Julia. Because she had stayed with Jack much longer than she should have.

But, if he was being completely candid with himself, the real reason he was walking around with an urge to soak anything that dared even look in his direction for the past six months, was that she had refused him.

She had mesmerized him with her strange walk, her constant humming, her disregard for societal expectations, her impish smile, her love of reading and her unique way of looking at the world. She had charmed him to feel absolutely at ease by just acting as she naturally would, and he couldn't stand it. He hated the way that he felt absolutely vulnerable in her presence, and also how it made him crave her company even more. Her eyes had a way of drawing him out of his stoicism and making him relay thoughts and feelings that he hadn't even been aware of in the first place. She always seemed to ask questions in just the right way so as to instill in him a very uncharacteristic trust of her.

He hated that her presence was intoxicating to him, and that when with her, he often did not have the immense control over himself that he usually did.

But above all of those things, he hated that he had wanted her, and that he had never been able to secure her as his own. And Spot Conlon was very used to getting exactly what he wanted.

And it wasn't as if Kate had directly refused him. He had never explicitly asked her for anything involving that. But, watching her go back to Jack Kelly like a lost puppy, time and again, after Spot had done everything he could to aid her in rebuilding herself felt like a slap in the face. After a year and a half of this pattern, he had felt a strong resentment fill him. He was right in front of Katherine almost every damn day, but yet she still preferred to wander back to Kelly to be belittled, insulted and hit. She was absurdly pathetic, so completely unlike the charismatic girl he had once known.

But, he didn't decide to finally act on this undercurrent of dissatisfaction until he had overheard one of his newsies quietly taking jabs at him.

"Conlon's gotten ta be completely tragic, waitin' around for Jack Kelly's leftovers. I'm startin' ta think that maybe he ain't cut out ta be no leader."

Although Spot had relished beating the ever living shit out of his outspoken newsie that day, he knew that what had been said was true. Just as Kate had dutifully returned to Jack Kelly like a mindless zombie without fail, he too had consistently returned to Kate, even when he knew that there was no way to fully secure her as his own. He couldn't be seen as weak, especially not by his own newsies, so, with his reputation at stake, he knew that something had to be done to salvage his sullied image.

The newsie party at the Manhattan lodging house the following week had been the perfect venue to set his reputation straight again. And after downing enough whiskey to ensure that he was unapologetically drunk, he had not only been able to ignore Kate the entire time, but he had also been able to charm Kate's beautiful friend Julia, enough for her to exit the party early with Spot. He had not consciously meant to hurt Kate. It had not been his intention to treat her as if she meant nothing. He remembered catching her eye as he had left the party with Julia kissing his neck and if he had not been so drunk, the look of pain that crossed her face would have jolted him out of his embrace immediately. The desperate melancholy in her eyes that night had troubled him for weeks.

Nevertheless, once Julia cemented herself as a consistent fixture in his life and his reputation became incontestable again, he had felt content with his decision to move on from Katherine Moore. Spot Conlon did not pine after women that did not want him. Spot Conlon had too many other options to waste his time on a girl who clearly was too daft to understand what she was missing.

But when Kate had approached him again, several months after he had crowned Julia the queen of Brooklyn, telling him that she had to end things with Jack, he had felt the first spark of anger fill him.

Now? Now that he had finally settled with someone else and was starting to feel himself again, she had finally decided it was time to leave Jack? Was she just intent on torturing him no matter how hard he tried to move on?

But he had been there for her, aiding her in breaking things off with Jack Kelly. He had attempted to reason with himself, that after Kate and Jack were ended, he would have nothing more to do with her. She had had her chance ten times over and never did anything about it. He was steadfast in his decision that Kate could not be a permanent part of his life.

Yet, despite his resolute preparations to rid himself of Kate for good, being with her again, even in the midst of her devastating break up with Jack, had prompted a response from him that he had not at all expected. He had felt a sudden electrifying shock to his body while in her presence, and it had felt _good_. So good, in fact, that he couldn't stop himself from going back again and again to alleviate his need for more. At first, it was under the guise of utilizing her connection to Julia, but after a while, he didn't even bother to come up with excuses just to be there and get the fix of Katherine Moore that he desperately sought after.

But, last night, all of the precarious unspoken truths that their relationship had been built on came crashing down with no warning. Kate had propositioned him, after all this time. But it was too fucking late.

He knew it was his wounded pride that ignited the rage he felt, but being aware of it didn't make it go away. So, the night before when she had finally relayed her true feelings to him, he had not known what to say. Why, now, after all this time did she choose to tell him this? Where did she get off putting that on him after she had had plenty of opportunities to do it before now?

And all of the pent up anger and resentment from the past two years had filled him. He had attempted to walk it off all last night, wandering around kicking things and swearing as he went, but to no avail.

Spot stared off into the distance tapping his fingers on the wooden railing of his perch. He finally faced Rummy and said calmly, "Guess it's time to just let that ship sail. Move on, yeah?"

Rummy sighed, nodding. But both boys turned suddenly upon hearing Spot's name being yelled loudly below.

"Ey, Conlon! Conlon! You'll never guess what I just saw!"

However, upon recognizing the voice, Spot Conlon merely groaned and Rummy snickered slightly.

"Whatddya say, Skip?" Rummy asked amusedly, as a small boy near the age of six came running down the docks towards them.

Spot could barely contain his eye roll. Although Skip often meant well, the kid had a compulsive habit of fabricating or hugely exaggerating things that he had seen. The first few times Skip had run up exclaiming alarming notions he had caused an immediate response from the Brooklyn boys, but now everyone was much warier of the things the small boy relayed.

"Oi, Rummy. This guy in a cape just attacked Jack Kelly in Central Park—"

"Skip," Spot interrupted, jumping down toward the boy. "What were ya doin' in Manhattan? You know you ain't supposed to sell your papes over there."

Skip looked away guiltily, murmuring, "Yeah, I spose I knew that, Spot." But then he animatedly continued, making Spot shake his head irritably, "But if I hadn't been there I wouldn'ta' seen the man in the cape try ta kill Cowboy an—"

"Skip," Spot warned, looking sternly at the newsboy and silencing him for a second time.

"No, Skip, continue, this sounds better than your usual stuff," Rummy said, smirking at Spot.

"If you're gonna encourage this crap then I now make you fully responsible for followin' up on whatever hair-brained shit he comes up with," Spot mumbled, glaring at Rummy.

And just as Spot was about to turn away, he heard the whistles, warning of a non-Brooklynite approaching. He felt a thud as Rummy jumped down to join him on the dock.

"Well, boss, looks like I won't have to follow up on anythin' after all," Rummy said confusedly, as they watched David Jacobs and Racetrack Higgins anxiously make their way towards the King of Brooklyn.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

I suppose every child has certain illogical fears as they grow up. A monster under the bed or a boogie man peering through a window are fairly common, albeit, terrifying themes that keep young ones up at night. I had experienced my fair share of monster related horrors as a little girl, but upon becoming old enough to work at my parent's store when I turned fifteen, I soon realized that fantastical nightmares were far less terrifying than actual people.

I had always dreaded confinement in my daily activities and working in the store was no exception. I craved fresh air and ample amounts of stimuli to immerse myself in, but ten-hour work days inside the fairly spacious corner store that my parents owned boded poorly for this requisite.

My mother, possessing a similar disposition as myself, understood my inherent need for diverse activity, and thus formulated a plan that would not only be agreeable to me, but also would possibly increase their customer base. My mother sent me throughout Manhattan to inquire into residents' potential interest in a delivery option for their grocery and medicinal needs. I had enthusiastically spread the idea through as much of the borough as would tolerate me and after several weeks and the go ahead from my parents, I began to make my way around town as the store's head of distribution. I had all the freedom I could ever want and I reveled in it blithely.

There were always certain difficulties on my daily journeys about town, but even these seemed more of a challenge than an obstacle to me. A rude landlord or an inappropriate client were fairly common occurrences, but never anything I couldn't handle. My parents, having been blessed with three daughters, were always very realistic about the dangers facing girls in our city. So not only had they never been shy about sharing these actualities with me, they also didn't hesitate to arm me with a multitude of ways to protect myself if such things should come to pass. Thus, due to my feelings of readiness, I mostly kept my daily activities to myself, and my parents very seldom inquired into them. I supposed they assumed that if something needed to be mentioned I would not hesitate to bring it up.

Yet, about a year after I commenced my new position, I began to feel a strange apprehension during my daily responsibilities. There was nothing concrete that I could point to as the root of my hesitation, so I kept it to myself, hoping that in the end, it would amount to nothing. As more time passed, however, I started to experience a more distinct awareness that someone might be following me. There still was no direct evidence to support this idea, but the unnerving intuition that my comings and goings were being abnormally monitored remained. But, with only my instinct as my proof, I still could not produce any solid confirmation that my feelings held any validity. So, I continued to veil my uneasiness for fear of being laughed at, or, even worse, having my newfound freedom taken away. It was, of course, an absurd notion anyway. Who would be following me? I was no one of importance and did nothing of interest. Yet, despite these rational narrations that I habitually relayed to myself, the unsettling feelings persisted.

I further attempted to quell my apprehension by positing these feelings onto tangible issues. I had an overactive imagination, my mind was playing tricks on me, and once I began my relationship with Jack Kelly, I was able to associate my paranoia with the guilty conscience I had developed from lying to my parents. Thus, my denial suspended my fears for quite some time.

Until one day I could no longer ignore the legitimacy of my perceptions. And strangely enough, Spot Conlon was the only other witness to the eerie events that transpired.

After our first meeting at Tibby's, I had found it difficult to stop thinking about the famed Brooklynite. His confident stance, glowering blue eyes and haughty smirk danced across my mind throughout my waking and sleeping hours. And, truthfully, this irked me a great deal, undoubtedly due to the fact that I had barely spoken to this boy, save a short hello at Medda's, and yet my thoughts still had an infuriating tendency of drifting to him. Eventually, I probably would have come to regard Spot as nothing more than an inconsequential contact, but seeing him as often as I did, and in the Manhattan streets, of all places, further buttressed his frequency in my cognizance.

Amazingly, he seemed to be at or around places that I had long frequented. For someone that supposedly reigned over Brooklyn, he certainly spent a great deal of his time away from it. I regularly found myself running into him, often without anyone else to act as a much needed buffer to distract from my ever-present gracelessness.

During my daily deliveries, I typically would stop for a short lunch break and sit and read under my favorite tree in the small park that was nearby our store. I found this a good time to reset myself for the remainder of my work day, regardless of what had happened that morning. I would quietly nibble on my lunch while enjoying a small portion of a book I had undoubtedly read several times before. But, most importantly, I would escape, even if just for a moment, from the world around me. On one such occasion, several weeks after Medda's show, I nearly screamed in terror when a sudden shadow fell over me. But, upon looking up into a familiar set of lively blue eyes, I immediately steadied myself.

"Kate, right?" Spot had said, a smirk gracing his lips as he noticed my startled façade.

I had stared at him curiously for a moment, attempting to piece together why he would happen to be in this part of Manhattan at this time of day when he neither worked nor lived in the borough. But, after several uncomfortable moments of silent pondering, I had shaken myself back into the present and murmured, "A little far away from your stomping grounds, aren't you?"

He had appeared taken aback by my exacting comment, but merely shrugged and proceeded to sit down next to me under the tree. I remember the strange feeling of anxiousness that pervaded throughout my body as I realized his intentions were beyond a transient greeting. I wasn't fearful of him, of course, but I felt that past a friendly acknowledgment and a short commentary about the weather, we had nothing else to discuss.

"I suppose, I just find it odd that a Brooklyn newsie would happen to be in a different territory during prime selling hours," I had muttered, fumbling over my words inelegantly. I remember feeling a blush begin to spread across my face as his eyes met mine and a small grin formed on his lips, replacing the smirk that usually resided there.

"Spot," he had said as he had taken his cap off and wiped sweat from his brow, leaning tiredly next to me on the tree.

"I'm sorry?" I had asked apprehensively, pushing myself up to stare at him while also attempting to put space between us.

"I have a name," he had said genially, taking a cigarette from his pocket and deftly lighting it as he muttered, "Spot Conlon."

I remember relaxing a bit as he took a puff from his cigarette, feeling slightly more at ease due to his good natured comment, especially in the face of my cringe-worthy awkwardness.

"I didn't know the most famous newsie in New York needed an explicit introduction," I had said, matching his easy tone. "I just find it strange that I'm seeing you in Manhattan instead of on your throne in Brooklyn."

At that, he had chuckled, his eyes seeming to shine approvingly in my direction.

"I spose I understand your confusion then," he replied as he blew smoke toward the sky. "Just in Manhattan visitin' a friend and happened ta see ya sittin over here. Figured I'd be social and say hello."

His eyes again flashed at me and I had finally allowed a smile to make its way across my face as I had quipped back, "Well, I feel so honored by your presence then, your majesty."

I remember the more I spoke with him that day the more I marveled at how easily and comfortably we conversed together. I had felt intimidated by him from our brief meetings before, but behind his stoic exterior, he was charming and stimulating and I couldn't help but feel completely disarmed in his presence.

I remember him gently picking up the book I had been reading, inspecting the cover and then flipping through its pages all the while eyeing me. He had said, "So you like reading, then?"

I had nodded, shifting closer to him and flipping through several pages as I had murmured, "It's a collection of poems. You might like this one." As I searched along the page for the beginning of the poem, I remember feeling a peculiar warmth fill me from being so close to him, as well as the sudden awareness of how intoxicating his natural scent was. I had been so overtaken with my bodily reactions that I had nearly forgotten myself. I had quickly recovered by pointing my finger to the poem and whispering, "It's _my_ favorite anyway."

I had felt his eyes bearing into me as I read the first few lines softly, "I'm nobody, who are you? Are you nobody too? Then there's a pair of us, don't tell, they'll advertise you know."

I had dared to look back up at him, feeling embarrassment begin to surge through me again, but his eyes were locked onto the page, clearly finishing the final verse of the poem. I warily regarded him as he lifted his head after several more quiet moments to once again meet my stare.

"I 'spose it's true, that bit about bein' somebody, eh?" he had said, watching me thoughtfully as he flicked his cigarette butt into the distance. "It certainly ain't all it's cracked up to be, more of a headache than anything, really."

I remember grinning widely at his comment, not even trying to hide how thrilled I was that he had not only understood the essence of the poem, but that he also had not found me as odd as everyone else seemed to think I was. I had attempted to discuss things like my book of poems or my political opinions with others my age before, even with Jack who was several years my senior, but the result was always the same. I was either laughed at or ignored, and I always found both reactions unappealing.

After that day in the park, however, I began sharing the very things I had been consistently mocked for with Spot Conlon, and he surprisingly continued to respond with only thoughtfulness and perhaps even admiration. I had found his rejoinders so refreshing that I hadn't been able to stop myself from indiscriminately disclosing every thought and opinion I had, and he happily soaked up all that poured from me with unwavering attentiveness.

And as the months went on, running into him in Manhattan became more of an expectation than a surprise. We often would share our lunch break together, developing somewhat of an interesting familiarity with each other. He seemed to enjoy my company and I felt such a natural ease in his presence that I happily and quickly accepted our unconventional relationship as friendship. If ulterior motives existed, I never ventured to find out. Being able to speak candidly with him far outweighed any potential damages that he could cause me. But, unfortunately, my newly budding friendship with Spot was not as easily understood by everyone. Jack Kelly did not take kindly to the large amount of time I began spending with his newsie peer and did not hesitate to "set me straight" about the entire affair.

"Katie, Spot's an alright guy an' all, but it ain't smart for you to be spending all yer time with him," Jack had said quietly one day. He had decided to softly confront me about my relationship with the leader of Brooklyn during a birthday celebration for Racetrack Higgins at the Manhattan lodging house. Unfortunately for him, I had been anything but discreet in return.

"I don't spend all of my time with him and I don't really see a problem with the small amount of time I _do_ spend with him," I remember replying defiantly.

Jack's expression had grown significantly darker as he had leaned down close to my face while dragging me further away from the rowdy festivities and whispering, "Don't make me look like a fuckin' fool, Katherine!" His hand had gripped my arm aggressively as his glare had intensified. I had widened my eyes in surprise as he continued through gritted teeth, "I don't wanna have this talk again, alright?"

I had yanked my arm away from him, feeling a strange anger beginning to boil inside of me, but also an unsettling alarm. As I had turned back to watch him rejoin the party, his jovial smile was again plastered across his face and he had happily clapped Kid Blink on the back. That had caused the pit of my stomach to sink even further.

I despised Jack's need to control my actions, especially since I felt that I hadn't done anything to warrant his rebuke. But his disturbing reaction at the party had caused an insecurity to fill me. I didn't want to lose Jack. He was charismatic and handsome, but above all else, he had _chosen_ me when he could have picked anyone he wanted. He made sure to mention this point as often as he could since the start of our relationship and I had fervently and naively bought into his distorted reality.

But, Jack had not been completely misleading in his warnings about Spot Conlon, though they were amply inflated. As open and kind as Spot had been to me, I was no stranger to his womanizing habits and ever-growing ego. I had fully expelled any thoughts of him ever being interested romantically in me from the very beginning, but the more I thought on my relationship with him, the more I both feared Jack's desertion and Spot's inevitable spurn.

So incited by my feelings of uneasiness, I began avoiding Spot at all costs. I abandoned my favorite tree in the park and began taking different paths for my deliveries in the hopes of circumventing the boy I had grown surprisingly close to, even in the short few months we had spent together. But, there were always the times that no matter how hard I tried to elude him, we still managed to find each other amidst one of the most populous cities in the world.

On one such occasion, I had dropped off my final delivery for the day and was heading back to my parent's shop just as the sun was setting in the distance. But upon briskly walking forward, I caught sight of Spot smoking a cigarette and playfully smiling and whispering to a very beautiful girl in the doorway of a tenement house. I hesitated, realizing that my current route would force me to walk past him and probably instigate a very uncomfortable conversation regarding my sudden absence from my regular haunts. I had slowly turned around, and began walking in the opposite direction, hoping that I would escape unnoticed, but before I had taken three steps on my new path I had heard Spot calling, "Ey, Kate, is that you?"

I had frozen, closing my eyes and sighing in defeat at having been noticed by him. As I had slowly turned around, I had found it exceedingly difficult to make my expression look anything but apprehensive. And of course I was met with that smirk, though his eyes seemed to reflect more than their usual amiability.

"Hello, Spot," I had muttered, forcing a smile on my face in an attempt to mask my awkwardness.

"Been a while since I seen ya around," he had said as he made his way to where I stood. I noted in surprise that he walked toward me unaccompanied by the stunning girl he had been speaking to moments before.

"Well, we've been so busy at the shop, it's been hard to get away lately," I said lowly, unable to think of any good excuse for my sudden disappearance.

As he stopped in front of me he had chuckled amused, his blue eyes curiously peering down at me. "Ain't the whole point of your job gettin' out and away?"

His comment had been so exacting that I felt my entire stance deflate as I had looked down from his gaze, shaking my head at my own terrible performance. I found myself immediately conceding my defeat as I whispered half-heartedly, "I suppose it is."

"You are a _terrible_ liar," Spot had said, a genuine smile replacing his haughty smirk.

"It would seem so," I had mumbled peering back up at him, shrugging in disgrace.

"Well, I tell ya what, I'll let you make it up to me." I had stared at him expectantly, wary of what he had in mind. "Let me walk ya back to your parent's shop," he had finished, offering his arm to me good-naturedly.

I stared at him apologetically, gently linking my arm in his, and stammering, "Spot, I truly am sorry—about the lying—and I suppose avoiding you as well—ugh—probably shouldn't have said that—I'm sorry I just—"

"Woah, Kate, easy there," Spot had interrupted, his eyes wide in awe and humor.

I had sighed, almost feeling like laughing at myself as well. "Sorry. Sometimes it takes my brain a moment to catch up with my mouth. It's not a particularly enviable trait."

Spot's grin had widened as he gently snickered at my derisive comment. "You are certainly one a' the most interesting girls I've ever met. But, tell me," he said as he pulled a cigarette out of his breast pocket and lit it dexterously, "What's this about you avoidin' me?"

I had felt my face redden significantly at his comment, slightly dismayed that my mouth had given me away so expediently. As he blew smoke up towards the darkening sky, I again felt my myself beginning to dribble out thoughts and feelings uncontrollably as I mumbled, "Well, it wasn't necessarily my idea—or I guess it was, but—but sometimes it's just easier to go along with Jack than fight with him—well we don't fight I suppose, but I can tell when he's angry and he warned me—"

"What?" Spot had interceded sharply as he suddenly brought our walk to a rough halt. I remember my eyes widening in horror as I simultaneously grasped both his heated stare and the unfortunate things that had just spewed forth from my mouth.

I felt a tightness begin in my chest as my brain desperately searched for options that would aid me in retracting my prior statement, but all I could do was stand there staring up into Spot's look of confusion and irritation completely confounded.

"That probably was not an appropriate thing to say," I murmured, again attempting to relay my thoughts with candor. "I enjoy spending time with you, and I'm not certain about the reasoning behind Jack's distrust, but it was childish of me to hide from you. I would very much like to continue our acquaintance, that is, if you aren't already completely revolted by me."

I remember him squinting at me for a moment, seeming to consider my statement carefully. I had stared at him earnestly, hoping I had not already proven myself unworthy of his friendship, but when I saw him turn his attention away from me, I shook my head, embarrassed that I had thought he would understand or care about any of what I had shared with him.

As I made a move to continue walking towards my parent's shop, hoping that I could silently skulk away without humiliating myself even further, I had felt Spot's hand grab my arm firmly preventing me from moving. Staring back at him in surprise, I had stated, "Spot, what are—" but I had immediately fallen silent, seeing his other hand wrapped purposefully around the gold-tipped cane in his belt loop. I remember feeling my breath catch in my chest as I watched his eyes intently survey the dark street around us.

He had turned to me finally, his gaze reflecting a noticeable amount of uneasiness, saying, "Come on, Kate, it's getting dark an' we should probably getya inside somewhere soon."

When he spoke I immediately exhaled, feeling slightly light-headed from holding my breath for so long. His hand had still firmly grasped my arm and he began walking with haste, practically dragging me along behind his lengthy strides.

"Spot," I had said worriedly, nearly tripping over my own feet from the unexpected increase in quickness.

"Come on, doll, we gotta keep movin'," he stated without even looking back at me, his hand squeezing my arm even more tightly and his pace increasing almost to a full sprint.

"Spot, I need to get back to my parents' shop, they'll worry about me," I said breathlessly.

He did not turn around or even signal that he had heard me. I felt his grip on my arm slip down to my hand and he began running faster, his hold on me unfaltering as I did my best to keep up. We began weaving through streets and alleyways, and he finally pulled open a small door and yanked me inside, shutting it quickly behind us.

Darkness surrounded us and I felt a panic rise within me, but before I could speak, Spot's other hand immediately went to my mouth, clamping it tightly over my lips. I felt his body leaning against mine, immobilizing me, and I widened my eyes searching for his face in the darkness.

And then I heard it. The sound of footsteps was faint at first, but they quickly became undeniably clear, splashing through the nearby puddles Spot and I had just trodden in and then coming to an eerie stop near the dark hiding place that we had disappeared into. My eyes slowly refocused in the new environment and I was able to make out Spot's face staring at the closed door before us. As several tense moments passed in silence, I held my breath in terror, desperately awaiting the sound of the footsteps getting further and further away. And, thankfully, after another few anxiety-filled moments, the footsteps scurried past us and diminished into the distance.

As Spot turned to stare at me, releasing my mouth and body from his strong grip, I remember feeling myself beginning to crumble, the terror of the previous minutes enveloping me. I had slunk onto my knees, unable to control my body's violent tremors. And surprisingly, Spot sank down right in front of me, and gently gathered me in his arms, whispering, "It's alright, Kate. Just breathe, okay? You're gonna be okay. Everything is fine…"

So we sat in that dark storage shed for what seemed like an eternity, while I haphazardly divulged everything I had been holding back for nearly a year—my strange intuitions, the unsettling feelings of being watched, and the panicked fear of being followed. And all through my stammers of alarm, Spot had warily listened, his grave stare confirming that what I had once considered an absurd paranoia had actually been a genuinely valid fear all along.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

 _"There's a bird that want's ta talk to ya, boss."_

Rummy's words from earlier in the day reverberated in Spot's mind for what seemed like the millionth time, as he took another aggressive drag from his stump of a cigarette. He had been standing in line at the distribution center just as the sun had risen for the day, two good night's sleep under his belt and the overwhelming burdens of the past off of his shoulders. After a much needed night of physical engagement with Julia, life had not seemed as bleak as it had only a few days before. He had felt pretty damn good, as a matter of fact. So, when Rummy had quickly pulled him aside from the line and whispered this message into Spot's ear, his first inclination was to tell Rummy, and the bird for that matter, to buzz off for a while. He had wanted an easy morning, a prolongation of his somewhat laidback few nights, and then he would dispense with whatever business needed to be taken care of during the afternoon hours.

But when he had pulled back to tell Rummy just this, he immediately felt the pit of his stomach sink to an abysmally new low. His second in command's face was uncharacteristically humorless and pale, a forewarning of bleak news to come. Spot had stared hard at Rummy, struggling to interpret what the bad news could be, but quickly found that he could read nothing into it. He decided he would start with the worst possibility first, and then hopefully move up from there.

"Is it Kelly?" Spot murmured as he walked out of the distribution center's gates with Rummy.

"Nah, Kelly's the same, surprisingly," Rummy replied, his face still remaining constricted. Spot had felt relief fill him upon hearing that Jack Kelly still remained stable, even despite the lethal beating he had received only days before.

When David and Racetrack had come onto the Brooklyn docks with the news of Jack Kelly's near fatal attack, Spot had been fairly worried, but unfortunately not in the least bit surprised. Jack had made his fair share of enemies in the years following the strike, mostly from his bad drinking habits, quick temper, and big mouth. Spot would never say this out loud, but, truthfully, Jack Kelly had been lucky not to have the shit beaten out of him well before that day. Of course he personally didn't wish any harm to befall the Manhattan leader, but he knew there were more than a few that did.

Which was, in part, why seeing David Jacobs approaching that day had been more than surprising. After the number Jack pulled on David's sister, Spot had been almost certain that the walking mouth's days with his newsie brethren were all but over. David had returned to school shortly after the news of Jack's unfaithfulness to Sarah had mercilessly spread throughout the boroughs and Spot did not expect to see David amongst the Manhattaners ever again. But, with the borough's potential of being viewed as an easy take after they were positioned to be leaderless for some time, Spot imagined the Manhattaners must have appealed to David's sense of duty in order for him to step in during the interim. And perhaps, the situation was dire enough that David had finally been able to let the past be. Time did have a funny way of healing even the worst of wounds.

But as Spot had turned into a side alley with Rummy, all thoughts of Manhattan's predicaments vanished completely from his mind as he saw the terrified boy standing in front of him.

"Flit, tell Conlon what ya told me," Spot heard Rummy say, as he had attempted to steady himself for whatever news the boy could possibly have.

Flit's eyes nervously surveyed Spot as he began, "Spot, I woulda come back sooner but I had ta keep lookin' ya see—I could see everythin' until I couldn't anymore an' I even seen her climb out the back window but after that—"

"What in the hell are you talkin' about?" Spot had interrupted irritably, unable to follow the young boy's train of thought.

"The one I been followin', Spot," Flit murmured. "The girl in Manhattan, the pretty one who does the deliveries all over."

Spot felt the color begin to drain from his face as some of the nonsensical snippets that Flit had relayed only moments before started to fix into something of substance. But he still found himself unable to fully grasp the meaning of Flit's tale.

"Flit, why the hell are you over here when you should be there, keepin' an eye on her?" Spot said angrily.

"That's what I'm tryin' ta tell ya," Flit exasperatedly continued. "When Kelly started bangin' on her door, I seen her climb out the back, but when I turned the corner she weren't there no more."

Spot turned to face Rummy, asking quietly, "Well, where is she?"

"Boss, that's what Flit's sayin'. He ain't been able to find her for three days," Rummy said, staring at Spot meaningfully.

"Didja check her parent's store? Or the park? She goes to that park a lot an'—"

"Conlon," Rummy interjected gently, placing a hand on Spot's shoulder to steady him. "Her parents contacted the bulls. She's ain't been home for days now. She's gone."

 _She's gone._

Although Flit and Rummy had repeated this sentiment over and over again, Spot had stood in that small alley unable to comprehend what any of it meant. And now, even with multiple hours to process the information, Spot still felt like his head might explode into thousands of pieces. Flit had assured him he had searched high and low, all of her regular haunts, all of the seedy client's that she dealt with, but to no avail. She had seemed to disappear off the face of the earth, leaving no trace of herself behind.

But the biggest reason Spot still found himself reeling without the first idea of how to proceed was that none of it made any fucking sense. Why the hell had Kelly been at her door moments before she had evaporated into thin air? And was Jack's present comatose state somehow connected to Katherine Moore's disappearance, as opposed to the much more likely theory that he had finally gotten what was coming to him?

Spot angrily threw the butt of his cigarette off the roof of the Brooklyn Lodging house as he howled, "Goddammit!" into the night sky. Nothing was fucking adding up. He felt completely uncertain of where to turn next and how best to proceed. He was supposed to be the goddamned leader, he was supposed to already have these answers, but after every thorough review he made of the current information, he continually came up empty handed.

Julia, however, had been certain that her theory behind the cause of Kate's disappearance was the only plausible answer. "She's already ruined her reputation with her sneaking around and lying. She probably had no choice," Julia had stated matter-of-factly when Spot had met her for dinner earlier in the evening. Spot had mentioned his concern about the strange situation briefly but immediately wished that he had said nothing at all.

The moment she had asserted the idea that Katherine Moore was merely a scared, ashamed runaway was the moment that Spot felt all control of his safely suppressed emotions vanish. He had sharply scoffed, "That don't make any goddamned sense, Julia! That ain't like Kate at all."

When he noticed how Julia poised herself to disagree, he had pushed himself aggressively away from the table hissing, "Don't fuckin' follow me!" and then he had left her there without another word.

Spot had returned brusquely to the lodging house afterwards, sending all of the Brooklynites a harsh glare that clearly warned against approaching him, and then he had ascended the stairs to his makeshift room in the attic. When Rummy had entered several moments later, Spot had been prepared to strike down his second in command for merely daring to interrupt his solitude. But, as was always the case with Rummy, Spot's angry momentum completely deflated as Rummy had murmured, "Conlon, we'll do whatever it takes."

He had stared hollowly at Rummy, saying quietly, "She ain't no runaway, Rummy."

Rummy had nodded, his eyes somberly relaying their immediate understanding of Spot's layered statement. Then he had quietly responded, "It has ta be somethin' else."

And now Spot stood on the roof, unable to sleep even despite the late hour. Kate's green eyes relentlessly flashed across his mind every time he dared to close his eyes. He heard her sincere laugh ring in his ears, felt her gentle, warm touch on his hand. He was even fairly certain he heard her voice in the cold wind that whipped roughly across his body.

 _"I want you to have me,"_ it whispered, making him ache in pain and bow his head in regret.

He closed his eyes, seeing so plainly the night that she had uttered those very words to him. The same night that Jack had thoughtlessly abandoned her in Brooklyn, too angry to notice and too drunk to care that she would have to navigate her way back in the dark amidst a terrible storm. Spot remembered seeing her tired eyes close as Jack stormed out of the Brooklyn lodging house following several poor hands of poker. She had audibly sighed, but instead of chasing after Jack, as she had so often been wont to do, she had picked up his full glass of whiskey, bent her head back and downed the whole of it in seconds.

Of course the poker game that Brooklyn had been hosting that night continued without a hitch, even after Jack's obscene exit. Even most of the Manhattaners had stayed despite their leader's poor gamesmanship and Kate had been among them, quietly pouring glass upon glass of alcohol into her mouth.

She had clearly been upset, but no one made a move to approach her. The ridiculous temper tantrums that Jack was known to throw had been increasing in frequency and if she did not bear the brunt of them, she bore the perpetual embarrassment that was their natural consequence. But, as the hours passed, and several Manhattaners bowed out to return to their borough, Spot remembered not having seen Kate in the room with them for quite some time. He had excused himself from the game, and had begun scanning the lodging house for any sign of her. When he had walked out onto the roof, the storm having lessened into a light drizzle, he had seen her, sitting on the ledge with her back to him and her feet dangling off the building. As he cautiously approached her, he saw that her wild curls were damp and her clothes were soaked through. She had turned her head slightly as he had leaned against the ledge and lit a cigarette. He remembered the alcohol fused glaze that her beautiful eyes had taken on.

"We kissed nearly three weeks ago and we haven't spoken of it since," she had slurred with a sliver of a smile on her lips.

Spot remembered the shock that filled him at her frank utterance, but he had remained silent, unsure of what to say about the kiss that he hadn't been able to stop thinking about. He had assumed it had been a mistake, on both of their parts, and that her silence on the matter had been her way of putting it behind them. Clearly she had been having trouble forgetting it as well.

But he had been quickly brought back from his thoughts about the intimate moment they had shared, when Kate had clumsily spun around to face him, only managing to nearly fall off of the ledge she had been perched upon. Spot remembered quickly grabbing her arms and pulling her wobbly legs back down onto the roof, only to be shocked once more when she had chaotically thrown her arms around him, burying her face in his shirt. He had stood stiffly at first, unsure of how to respond to her vulnerable affection, but when he heard her mumble, "I like being close to you like this," he had softly gathered her in his arms and rested his cheek atop her wet hair.

When she had pulled back gently to meet his gaze, her eyes had still been heavy with inebriation but they had also been intensely fixated on him. She had looked so beautiful, even with her messy knotted hair and red-rimmed eyes, and Spot remembered wanting nothing more than to lean in and kiss her again, but before he gave in to his impulse she had murmured, "I don't care what other people think about me, you know. I know most things I do are improper, but that word doesn't scare me like it does so many other people."

"I like that about you," Spot remembered responding, smirking slightly down at her, but she had shaken her head, refocusing herself to continue.

"I need you to know something, Thomas Conlon. It's important," she had remarked seriously, "I don't love Jack and I don't think he loves me. But you," she had paused for a moment her drunkenness making her teeter slightly before continuing, "I want you to have me. I want to be yours."

Spot remembered leaning into capture her mouth with his after her impassioned speech, unable to hold himself back any longer. And the rest had been a blur of heated wet kisses that somehow led them into his attic room. Kate had stripped herself of her wet dress and stood before him in her thin petticoats and undershirt. Everything in him that night had told him to take her, to throw her on his cot, spread her legs and finally release the year and a half of built up sexual tension.

But he hadn't. Something much more powerful within him had held his urges in check and he remembered saying curtly, "Kate, I'm gonna get one a' my boys to walk you back home, make sure you're safe."

To say she had looked upset would have been an understatement, and she had not been alone in that feeling. Spot had silently cursed himself for days following the incident. But on this night, while he stood on the same roof where they had kissed for a second time, he knew why his gut instinct had been to stop himself.

If he had done what every nerve ending in his body was pushing him to do that night, he would have lost her for good. She had been drunk, she had still been with Jack Kelly and she had not been prepared to take a tremendous step like that while the prior two things had remained true, and he couldn't risk not having her.

And beyond his stubborn musings of the past weeks, he began to realize that this was still very much the case. Katherine Moore was a fixture in his life that he could not do without and he knew innately that wherever she happened to currently be, it was not by her own choice. All the signs pointed to imminent danger, but unfortunately none currently informed him of a direction with which to find her.

"Where are you, Kate?" Spot whispered into the night sky, before sighing dejectedly and then descending the stairs into his room. It was imperative that he find her because not having her had never been an option.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Spot tapped his cane absentmindedly as he sat at the Jacobs' dining room table, slowly taking in his surroundings. Their apartment was warm and inviting, so unlike the Brooklyn lodging house where he had spent most of his formative years. A fire burned brightly in their open living room and the kitchen smelt of a hearty meal that was almost ready to serve. To some, the Jacobs' apartment would have seem cramped and stark, but Spot found the two-bedroom abode welcoming and restful. He felt his mind drifting softly to the possibility of his own cozy apartment one day as he watched Esther Jacobs walk in and stir the stew she had been working diligently on for several hours. He smiled lightly, his mind wandering to images of a prospective fire crackling enticingly, and a woman, perhaps his future wife, swaying slightly as she cooked in a small kitchen similar to the one in which Esther now stood. When the woman turned to greet him lovingly, however, her eyes flashed a vivid green and Spot quickly shook himself from the fantasy, feeling an all too familiar sickness fill him.

He had felt this same nausea now for eleven days. Eleven fucking days had passed and he had absolutely no new information to go on. Spot had not been sitting back idly either. He had sent birds everywhere, had queried the Manhattan newsies for information, and had even called in a few favors from people he typically did not involve in his personal affairs. But the birds had discovered nothing new, his specified requests had yet to yield anything of merit, and Jack, the only Manhattaner with any potentially useful insight, had awoken more incoherent and feverish six days after the attack than when he had first been found.

Jack's situation had become so grim, in fact, that the Jacobs' family had offered to call a doctor and set him up in their apartment to ensure that he received the most attentive care available to him. And surprisingly, Jack's move to the Jacobs' seemed to do the trick. Nine days after his initial injuries, Jack's fever broke and the doctor seemed assured that he would make a full recovery.

So, here Spot sat, waiting to visit his old ally and friend in the hopes of gaining any sort of insight into the potential whereabouts of Kate. He wasn't sure what Jack's emotional response would be to any mention of the girl he once claimed had "ruined his life", but truthfully, Spot didn't care too much. And, after watching Sarah Jacobs go in and out of Jack's recovery room with a bright smile on her face, Spot felt even less concern for any anger or discomfort his visit might cause. Perhaps, the Manhattan leader's luck in love had taken a turn for the better, or, at the very least had cleared his head of the seemingly endless vendettas he had held against Kate all this time. Regardless, Spot was not above disregarding Jack's sensitive feelings on the subject if they indeed still existed.

For time was not currently on Spots side, so wasting even a few minutes with unnecessary hand holding was not an option. He felt an immense pressure to forward his search as quickly as possible, and by any means necessary. His tireless pursuit for answers was the only thing keeping that small voice in the back of his mind persistently whispering that it was much too late to save her at bay.

"Hey, Spot."

Spot sat up suddenly, jolted from his intense thoughts, to see David Jacobs walking through the front door, surprise plainly written across his face.

Spot stood slowly, shaking David's outstretched hand genially. "Mouth," he responded with a slight smirk, pleased to hear David's good natured chuckle at the old nickname.

"Here to see Jack?" David queried, as he took his coat and hat off, hanging them on the modest rack by the door.

"Your ma told me ta wait for you to get back from your classes," Spot said as he motioned his head in the direction of Esther, who had not stopped scurrying about the small kitchen to prepare the impending meal.

"Oh," David murmured looking at his mother's quick shrug and smile. Then, turning back to Spot he continued, "Yeah, Jack's been a little wary of any visitors lately, but I know he'll be glad to see you."

Spot nodded appreciatively at David and followed him to the closed bedroom door at the other end of the apartment. David knocked lightly and Spot heard a gentle, "Come in," that sounded like Sarah's voice. As they entered the room, Spot felt his eyes widen involuntarily at the sight of Jack Kelly laying atop a cot on the floor, while Sarah sat next to him, spooning broth into his mouth.

Spot barely recognized the man who lay before him. His face was thin and sallow, covered in bruises and cuts and his arm rested over his chest in a makeshift sling. The thing that struck Spot the most, however, was how the beating and subsequent sickness seemed to age Jack's features. Gone was the youthful boy whom Spot had befriended so many years ago, and in his place was a man who already possessed a weariness much beyond his years.

Jack's face lit up slightly as he noticed Spot's presence and he rasped, "Heya, Brooklyn. Long time no see."

Spot nodded in greeting, unable to determine if Jack's salutation was good natured or testy. In all honesty, he still was finding it difficult to look toward what little of the Manhattan leader was left. Although Jack was about two years Spot's senior, he looked much older and much frailer than Spot had ever seen him. The attack and following infection had clearly had a profound effect on Jack's body.

Jack, however, inspected Spot with great interest, clearly having no qualms with doing so. This immediately triggered Spot to awkwardly avoid eye contact as several silent moments passed, an action that Spot had never felt the need to do before. To anyone. But the past week and a half had produced a surplus of other strange behaviors that Spot was having a much more difficult time controlling, let alone explaining.

He saw Jack gingerly turn towards Sarah murmuring, "You mind givin' me and Spot some time to talk by ourselves?"

Sarah glanced at Spot somewhat suspiciously but nodded. She quickly kissed Jack's forehead and moved to follow David out of the door saying, "Not too long. Jack needs to rest." Spot hesitantly walked nearer to Jack as he heard the door close behind him.

"So how'd ya manage that?" Spot asked with a forced smirk as he motioned his head in the direction of the door, feeling the awkwardness more fully fill the room now that he and Jack were alone.

It was a discomfort that had been present between them for quite some time, if Spot really thought about it. They both had always done their best to ignore the sudden strange space that had seemed to take up residence between them after Jack and Kate's break up, but Spot had always been aware of the change. And he was almost certain that Jack had found it difficult to ignore as well.

"Guess people don't have as big an issue forgivin' you when they're scared you're gonna die," Jack murmured, a cryptic smile appearing on his thin face.

Spot sighed slightly and bowed his head, attempting to gather what little bearings he had left as he replied, "You and me never had any bad blood, Cowboy. I ain't here to collect apologies that ain't due to me."

Jack gazed fixedly at Spot for a moment and then murmured, "I know that ain't why you're here. You ain't as mysterious as you think you are, Conlon."

Jack's face again broke into a small smile that Spot still was unable to read. So, he remained silent, having difficulty shaking the feelings of hesitancy that still remained. Jack's deep brown eyes stared intently at Spot, prolonging the quiet almost unbearably and making Spot want to scream at the Manhattaner. Spot had never been good at idle chatter, especially when there were important things at hand to discuss, but he also didn't feel right demanding anything of Jack Kelly as he lay there, barely recovered from his near death episode. Before he had seen Jack, he had been completely absorbed in attaining the information he had come to acquire with little else entering his mind. But now, as he did his best to avoid staring at the barely recognizable Manhattan leader, he couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of regret and perhaps even sadness for the lapsed comradery and friendship that had once come so effortlessly to he and Jack.

"I needja ta listen ta me for a minute, Conlon," Jack continued suddenly, meeting Spot's surprised gaze. Jack took a deep breath, pain crossing his face, but he opened his eyes quickly to make eye contact with Spot as he said, "I made a lotta mistakes over the past few years, an' most of 'em coulda been avoided if I hadn't been so fuckin' proud. It took me almost dyin' ta realize what was really important." Jack stopped as he looked towards the door emotionally, and then his eyes bore into Spot's again as he rasped, "I fucked up bad with Sarah and then I fucked up Katie so I wouldn't have to face what I had done. An' now for some god-forsaken reason I get a second chance at some kinda' fulfillment."

Jack paused again, his face wincing as he breathed in deeply. Spot almost felt like he was talking to the Jack he had known before everything had gone to shit, which inherently relaxed Spot's threshold for timidity quite a bit. So much so, in fact, that Spot's words fell out of his mouth naturally, as if the several years that had passed with all of their complications were non-existent.

"Fancy yourself a philosopher all tha sudden, Kelly?" Spot commented wryly, watching Jack scoff in good-natured irritation.

"You damn well know I ain't smart enough to be no philosopher," Jack muttered as he rolled his eyes derisively. But then Jack's face again became serious as he continued, "I got brains enough, though, ta know that Katie nevah looked at me the way she was always lookin' at you. An' I guess that made me mad for a long fuckin' time." Jack paused for a moment, his eyes constricting with what seemed like guilt as Spot stood silently in awe of Jack's easy breach of the subject. Jack continued slowly, "Now I see that it was for all the wrong reasons. My face, it ain't ever been the way yours is right now, hearin' her name."

Jack looked expectantly at Spot, and Spot couldn't help but smirk and shake his head in response.

"Ya see, ya dirty Brooklynite. You ain't that hard to read," Jack mumbled, chuckling slightly.

Spot felt a smile finally come to his face as well, relief and perhaps even contentment filling him as he became confident that the Jack Kelly he had once been so close to had again resurfaced, leaving the stranger that had embodied Jack for so long behind.

"She's gone, ain't she?" Jack asked, his face taking on a grave expression as Spot nodded, mirroring his look.

"Like she fuckin' disappeared inta thin air," Spot murmured, rubbing his hands over his face aggressively. "I ain't got nothin' ta go on, Kelly. Nobody saw nothin' that day."

Jack's face remained solemn as he rasped, "Except me."

Spot nodded slowly, leaning against the wall with a slight thud as he watched Jack close his eyes in pain again.

"I was drunk off my ass that mornin', Conlon," Jack whispered, his eyes shining with a sincere regret. "I always got focused on Katie when I'd start drinkin' for whatever reason, so I got it inta' my mind that I needed to go and give her whatfor early that mornin' instead of getting' to the distribution center."

Spot patiently listened to Jack's recount of the events leading up to Kate's disappearance with no interruption or reaction, wanting to soak up as many details as possible. Jack described his trek to Kate's apartment, how he waited impatiently to get a glimpse of her leaving in the early morning hours, how she was not among her parents and two sisters when they left for the day, and finally, how he had commenced banging on her door, unable to hold back his drunken frustration any longer.

"When she didn't come out the front door, I knew she'd probly climb out the fire escape like she always used to," Jack murmured, a distress taking over his gaze. "An when I rounded back there that's when I saw it all happen."

Spot's head snapped at the comment, his eyes intently staring at Jack to carefully register his next words.

"I saw her bein' carried off by one of them Italian brothers me and my boys have always steered clear of. You know the ones. She was all limp, almost like she was dead," Jack whispered, staring meaningfully at Spot.

Spot's face took on a confounded expression as the full significance of Jack's story began to hit him. He unfortunately knew exactly to whom Jack was referring. The shady business dealings and violence that followed every move made by the Fiore family in New York was old news to most people in the city. He had seen the Fiore goons from a distance but had never come into contact with them personally. There had been a few headlines Spot remembered hawking involving them, but, much like the rest of the city, he accepted the family as a peripheral part of life in New York. He made sure he and his boys were as far away from any Fiore territories as humanly possible, but beyond that, there had never really been a concern.

"What in the hell would they want with Kate?" Spot asked incredulously, more to himself than to Jack.

Jack looked worriedly in Spot's direction, saying softly, "When I saw her bein' carried off like that, I didn't know what the fuck I was lookin' at. So, I ran off to find someone. Dunno who I thought coulda helped her, but it ended up not matterin' anyway. When I was goin' through the park I felt somethin' heavy hit my head an' I don't remember anythin' else after that."

Jack's eyes again took on a sorrowful glaze as he stared hard at Spot's calculating face. "Listen, Conlon," Jack muttered quietly. "I'm pretty sure I know what you're thinkin' about doin', but as a guy that somewhat cares about you not endin' up dead in the East River, you need ta let her family and the bulls handle this. If you keep askin' around, I don't think you'll be prepared for what kinda shit you may find yourself in."

Spot let his head hit the wall behind him in utter defeat. He knew Jack was right, but he had not been expecting the complete immobility that this discovery would force him into. She was in graver danger than even he could have imagined and there was no feasible way he could help her.

No feasible way that anyone could.

"What the fuck am I supposed to do, Kelly?" Spot said, anger permeating through his voice.

Jack stared somewhat apologetically at him and rasped, "Don't end up like me."

After Spot had finally been shooed away from Jack's bedside by a very concerned Sarah, he said his goodbyes to the rest of the Jacobs and began making his way back to Brooklyn.

"Goddammit," he whispered to himself.

Once he got back to the Brooklyn Lodging House and had securely made his way to the solace of his room he felt his fist going through the wall of the attic over and over again.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"Conlon, we need to talk about the last few weeks."

Spot's alcohol addled brain hadn't been able to stop the laugh that so easily erupted from within him, even after noting Rummy's grave face and severe tone.

"Fuck off, Rummy," Spot slurred, giving his second in command an unimpressed eye roll as he turned back to hazily peer at the setting sun from his stance on the Brooklyn docks.

He lifted the bottle of whiskey he had stolen earlier to his mouth, taking another hefty swig. However, he felt himself almost choking on his mouthful as Rummy aggressively snatched the bottle out of his grasp in one swift movement.

"I will fuckin' soak ya til ya can't walk!" Spot shouted, making a move to swing at Rummy but only succeeding in stumbling over his own feet and falling to his knees.

"You ain't soakin' nobody in the state you're in, Conlon. You're a fuckin' mess," Rummy said, a hint of disgust in his tone. He had deftly stepped away from Spot's clumsy attempt at an attack and now stared down at him shaking his head.

"Well, when I sober up in a few hours, you'll be sorry ya fuckin' challenged me," Spot mumbled irritably, falling back on his bottom to regain some balance before he attempted to stand again.

Rummy's scoff echoed across the empty docks. "You ain't been sober in two weeks, Conlon. I ain't gonna hold my breath," he said harshly.

Spot glared up at his second in command but made no move to deny his allegation. He knew sobriety had eluded him for the past few weeks but he cared little about it. If anything, he felt he was functioning far better drunk than he would be with no alcohol in his system. After his visit to Jack Kelly, Spot had found himself spewing forth a plethora of confusing emotions with no rhyme or reason to them and no warning for when they would begin or end. He had lost complete control of himself and had no remedy for regaining it. So, upon finding out that the steady consumption of alcohol caused complete numbness to fill him, quieting every emotion he had into coldness, he welcomed it with open arms.

"What's it to you, Rummy?" Spot mumbled, again glaring harshly up at the tall, dark-haired boy standing defiantly before him.

Rummy glowered unabashedly back at his leader while angrily saying, "You are one selfish sonovabitch, Conlon. You're drownin' and you ain't even looked around ta see that you're takin' the lot of us with you!"

Rummy was only about a year younger than Spot, but had easily surpassed Spot's height and weight several summers before. Spot was by no means a scrawny man. Though tall and slim, he possessed a strength and agility that could easily overtake anyone that dared to test him. But Rummy was far beyond the average when it came to brawn. He was a tall, solid tree of a man who surprisingly also possessed a softness about him that endeared even the smallest of children. But, Spot knew better than to be fooled by the benign air that exuded from Rummy. From the many years they had spent in each other's company and confidence, Spot was well aware that when pushed, Rummy was anything but harmless. The boy could possess a savageness that even made Spot wary from time to time, and also utterly thankful that Rummy took his loyalty to him very seriously.

He sometimes found himself wondering why it had been he and not Rummy that had acquired the title of "king" in Brooklyn, but these moments of insecurity were always fleeting. He saw the blatant respect that had clouded Rummy's eyes from the t ime they were kids. Although Spot sometimes rued the fact that Rummy had been privy to his pre-leader days in Brooklyn, if only because he had seen Spot at his weakest, he also felt grateful that there was still someone around him that knew him without his armor on. If anything, this rare knowledge that Rummy possessed seemed to only heighten his respect for Spot as leader. And the boys of Brooklyn mirrored this respect. New ones, not knowing Spot well, often would only adhere to Rummy's demands merely from fear of his intimidating size, but soon, they too were aware of the reason that Rummy always deferred to Spot no matter what. Spot might not have been the gargantuan man that Rummy was, but in spirit, fairness and cunning Spot far outshined all of his peers.

Spot hadn't come by this respect easily, either, and so he took great pride in his leadership of Brooklyn and in the faith that his boys, Rummy included, put in him. It was because of this that he fought so hard for them, but it was also why he carefully crafted his steely exterior. The hard veil he wrapped about himself was not only utilized as his shield of safety, but also as a protection for those that put the most trust in him. The only difficulty arose when he was unable to distinguish from the times that it was far better to drop his barriers than to keep them up.

After that final night with Kate nearly five weeks ago, he had closed off completely to everyone around him, but instead of the innocuous stoicism that usually took hold, his behaviors had become erratic and dangerous. He began drinking heftily, even going so far as to steal bottles from Mrs. O' Connel, the fiery widow who ran the boarding house. Spot was almost certain that if Mary O' Connel hadn't been such a close friend of Spot's parents prior to their death, she would have cut Spot loose long ago for the various inconveniences that Spot had caused her, including this newest offense.

And if it weren't for his absolute drunkenness, Spot would have felt shame fill him not only from his recent series of thefts, but also at the disgusted look Rummy wasn't even trying to hide from his face at the moment. But, the fact that an unhealthy amount of alcohol was surging through Spot's veins made that tiny bit of disgrace crumble in the face of the absolute fury he felt as Rummy's words sank in fully. He haphazardly pushed himself up and into Rummy's face screeching, "I oughta kick your ass outa Brooklyn for even thinkin' that, you ungrateful piece of shit!"

Rummy merely stared into Spot's eyes completely unmoved by the threat and whispered, "If ya did that, Conlon, ya damn well know you wouldn't have no one left that's got your back."

Spot felt his body involuntarily cower from the blow Rummy had dealt him as he backed out of his aggressive stance and away from Rummy's unwavering stare. He gripped the closest wooden beam of the docks, attempting to steady himself.

"Listen, Spot," he heard Rummy say softly, "I ain't here ta challenge yer leadership, but I am here to knock some fuckin' sense inta ya. You're leavin' yourself open to a mutiny with the loony way you been actin' lately. You're lucky it's made most a' the boys scared shitless of ya instead of seein' you as the easy target ya are."

Spot winced at the truth in Rummy's words. Although he knew most of his boys would take a bullet for him if given the opportunity, he also was aware that there were always a few snakes in the grass waiting for the right time to strike. Spot had never been particularly concerned about defending himself against any potential overthrows before, mostly because he had been blessed with a finely honed ability of picking out disingenuous people and toxic situations. But he was also realistic enough to know that if anyone among his ranks had even an inkling of ambition, the easiest way to rally his boys away from him would be to convince them that he was no longer a capable leader.

And his behavior over the last several weeks could easily be classified as such. He had been absent, searching on his own for any signs of Katherine whenever he could, but more importantly he had been unconcerned with his boys. He had soaked a few of them in his alcohol addled daze for no reason at all, and he had thrown his weight around with chores and other tasks in completely demeaning ways. While this was probably a leadership tactic used by some, Spot had never been known for unjust or degrading behavior. He had never demanded anything of his boys that he would not feel completely comfortable doing himself.

And though all of these thoughts ran through Spot's mind convincingly, he only managed to murmur, "I hafta find her, Rummy."

"Conlon, you gotta understand somethin'," Rummy replied while walking towards Spot. "You runnin' around killin' yourself tryin' ta find this girl don't make no sense to the boys. She ain't ever been your girl an' you ain't ever breathed a word of importance about her to anyone here. You can't blame them for thinkin' ya lost it. We all see Julia an' the other girls ya take ta your bed on the regular, but Katherine Moore ain't ever been one of 'em. What reason do the boys have to rally behind you in finding this broad?"

"I haven't asked them to do anything about findin' her," Spot snapped as he angrily glanced at Rummy.

"That's the thing, Conlon. It ain't about askin' them to look for her, it's about you shirkin your duties here 'cause _you_ are. You ain't been here more than a few hours a day, an' when you do show up you're a useless drunk. Ya leave us all with fuckin' instructions but then don't come back to follow through," Rummy almost shouted, irritation clear in his voice.

Spot shot a harsh glare back to his second in command but made no move to disagree with him. He heard Rummy approach him as he continued quietly, "Conlon, it's as simple as this. You're the leader and you owe it to us to fuckin' act like one. And as far as Kate's concerned, the boys wouldn't feel so unsure about all the crap you've been doing lately if they understood what the hell she is to you. But I'm pretty sure you ain't got a clue how to answer that for yourself," Rummy said, a touch of irritation returning to his voice as he almost spat the last sentiment.

"I'm guessin' you do," Spot said snidely. "Never woulda taken you for a gypsy, Rummy. You gonna make me pay up for a palm readin' next?"

Rummy's slow chuckle surprised Spot, and he turned to face his Brooklyn peer in curiosity. "You can keep bein' in denial about Kate all you want, but for the rest of our sakes wouldja at the very least cut down on the drinkin' an' let me know where the hell you're goin' so I can spin it some sorta way to the boys. You ain't a lone wolf, Spot, an' you have a responsibility to your pack here. You need to start showin' up everyday an' at least pretend that you give a shit," Rummy said matter-of-factly.

"I don't have the first fuckin' idea of what you think I'm in denial about," Spot murmured petulantly as he stumbled slightly away from Rummy to face the setting sun once more. "But you do gotta point about bein' here more."

He heard Rummy's heavy sigh and felt his hand clap him on the back somewhat genially. "We all needja clear-headed an' together, Spot. Otherwise you could leave us open to any kind of attack an' maybe even get yourself killed or locked up. Ya gotta put on a good face, especially when you're out and about. You gotta maintain your reputation."

Rummy came to stand in front of Spot, making eye contact meaningfully with him as he continued, "If it gets round that you've lost your edge, you know ain't nobody's gonna feel the need ta answer those called in favors either, 'specially if they think you ain't able to enforce nothin' anymore. Without your reputation, you ain't gonna get nowhere nearer ta gettin' her, Conlon. It's the only thing that'll keep your boys safe an' it's the only thing that could help find Kate. You know that."

Spot nodded his assent. Of course he knew that. He had spent years meticulously perfecting this image from which the fate of himself, his boys and now perhaps even Kate hinged. But, in a number of weeks he had managed to nearly destroy everything he had built. Spot felt his inebriation seeping out of his pores as he realized how childish and stupid he had been. How far he had gotten away from himself.

"I bet ol' Mary will be looking for this."

Spot turned to see Rummy holding out the half-drunk bottle of whiskey and he couldn't help but smirk, utterly grateful to Rummy in that moment for his humor alone. "Yeah, I bet she is," he quipped, taking hold of the bottle. "I'll hafta let her know I caught one a' the boys with it an' thought she might want it back."

Rummy chuckled good-naturedly as they began making their way back to the lodging house, Spot's haze finally fully lifting. He laughed himself at the thought of the scathing look that he was sure to receive from Mary when he returned the bottle from whence it came. No matter what story he told her, she would easily see through it to the truth of the matter, as she had so many times before. As a younger boy, Spot had continually pushed his limits with the vulgar widow, mostly due to the anger and confusion that filled him from being orphaned so suddenly. But as he had aged into the young man that he now was, Spot rarely pulled the punches with Mary that he had attempted so frequently before, the stolen bottle he now held being a very exceptional occurrence. He had developed somewhat of a fondness for the uncouth, boorish woman who had without question taken him in as a boy. Although he never dared to utter these sentiments aloud, he felt it his responsibility to illustrate his appreciation by keeping the boys in line and making sure the lodging house was somewhat presentable on a weekly basis. The small, uncouth woman had a soft heart beneath it all, and despite all of Spot's bravado, he despised taking advantage of any kindness bestowed upon him.

As the boys walked up to the pier, Rummy pointed to a small darting shadow in the distance, saying confusedly, "Is that Skip and—"

"Flit," Spot finished just as perplexed.

In the newly settling dusk, he saw the younger boy running at top speed towards the docks while the older boy trailed about ten yards behind him at a much slower pace. As Skip quickly came within shouting distance of the Brooklyn leaders, Spot was able to make out some of what the six-year-old was saying.

"Spot…Rummy…. Flit…. hurt…. angel…"

The boys' eyes met for a brief moment before they were running toward Skip and Flit. Although Spot's face donned its usual mask, he felt his heart skip a beat in terror as he was finally able to make out Flit fully in the dimness, a limp to his step and his arms full of a substantial but unidentifiable load.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Spot anticipated Flit's fall well before the wiry boy was aware of his own body's imminent collapse. Running at full speed, he circumvented Skip easily, falling to his knees to deftly catch Flit as he dropped. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Rummy gather up the bundle that had fallen from Flit's beleaguered grasp, Skip circling him and babbling incoherently, but his attention was quickly brought back to his bird's shaking, near unconscious form, everything else immediately pushed into the background. He felt his ears ringing deafeningly as he became more wholly in tune to the extent of Flit's injuries. His bird's face was alarmingly pale, his breathing labored, and after a quick assessment, Spot noticed several troubling wounds to Flit's leg and abdomen.

"Flit," Spot said as he shook the boy slightly, attempting to rouse him from his near comatose state.

"Flit," he said more firmly, grabbing the boy's face to aid him in focusing. But the Flit's eyes merely dipped into the back of his head as he mumbled, "I let ya down…had ta…make it right."

Spot stared confusedly at Flit for a brief moment, unable to comprehend the meaning of his statement, but all too suddenly he felt an unfamiliar panic fill him as Flit's eyes fluttered closed with an unsettling finality.

"Flit!" Spot desperately cried as he attempted one more rousing shake on the boy, but Flit's eyes remained shut.

Spot exasperatedly shouted, "Goddammit!" as he beat his fist to the ground, horrified at the real possibility that Flit's prior statement could very well have been his last.

The Brooklyn leader's head swam in uneasiness. Flit appeared to still be breathing, but barely. He quickly hoisted the boy over his shoulder, not wanting to spare a moment in getting Flit to safety. Without even looking at Rummy or Skip he stated shakily, "I gotta get him back, or else he won't last long. Maybe Mary'll know what the hell to do."

As he began taking his first steps back toward the lodging house, the ringing in his ears began to dull enough for him to realize that Rummy was calling his name repeatedly.

"Spot!"

Spot whipped his head around, staring at Rummy with wide, expectant eyes. And then, like an abrupt punch to the face, the hazy edges of the scene he and Rummy had intercepted moments before flooded immediately into the foreground. As he took in the sight of the filthy blanket that Rummy held, dark curls and pale skin becoming visible even through the dimness, he felt himself nearly topple he and Flit onto the hard, cold ground. A new sense of alarm permeated the Brooklyn leader as he searched for any words that would convey the multitude of questions and concerns racing through his mind.

"Jesus Christ, Rummy, is that…is she…"

Spot's unfinished questions echoed amidst the group of boys as he felt his heart leap into his throat and an instability take over his stance for a second time. He attempted to steady himself again, but found that he was still dizzy and short of breath, his brain reeling with the impossibility of all he now saw before him. For a moment, he felt his heart swell with immense hope, but all too suddenly the familiar feeling of dread pervaded in his gut, a multitude of dark, albeit probable, realities flooding through his mind as he reminded himself of Flit's present state.

When he noted Rummy's quick head shake, he could feel the panic lift slightly and the breath return to his lungs.

"Conlon, somethin' ain't right with her, though…with…any of this," Rummy said quietly as he approached Spot, Skip at his heels.

Spot nodded distractedly, feeling the comforting hum of ideas snap his mind back into its habitual focus, years of sorting through varying crises aiding his entire body's transformation into the stoic armor on which he had always depended.

"Rummy, we need to head back to Mary's apartment. Go in the back way. And Skip," Spot turned to the small boy fidgeting behind Rummy and shot him a stern stare before continuing, "Not a word to anyone 'til this is sorted. You follow close to me an' Rummy, an' sit in the kitchen til I'm done havin' a word with Mary. Understood?"

Skip nodded, standing at attention and whispering, "Yessir."

The seriousness that the young boy suddenly took on would have made Spot smile normally, but his mind was already fully focused on the next necessary step in safely securing everyone involved in this strange scene, and then hopefully attaining the answers to the seemingly endless amount of alarming questions that were still running through the back of his mind.

As they made their way quickly and quietly across the dark Brooklyn streets, Spot maintained his focus and composure, hoping with all his might that Flit would somehow pull through this and that Katherine Moore was truly the girl, alive and well, within the blanket. Spot stealthily led the others up a back fire escape entrance and nudged the half cracked window fully ajar, hearing the familiar whine of the old wood as he eased his way into the dark spare room of Mary's apartment.

"What in the bloody hell do you think you're doin' in—"

Spot almost jumped out of his skin as the dim glow from a candle nearly singed off his right eyebrow. He quickly recovered as he saw the frizzy gray tendrils of hair framing a plump, angry face and squinty green eyes.

Mary scoffed, almost in a relieved manner as she swatted Spot's arm and hissed, "Thomas Conlon, I outta skin you alive for giving me such a fright! Wherever did you learn to enter houses through windows instead of doors?"

But Mary's face and tone immediately sobered as her eyes took note of Flit's lifeless form and then wandered to Rummy and Skip as they finished climbing through the window.

"Looks as though you boys have gotten yourselves into a spot of trouble, Thomas. Bring the lad in here so I can get a better look."

Spot nodded as he followed Mary into the main room, utterly thankful that she had never been one to fly off the handle in serious situations. He knew her questions would come, but only after the more pressing matters had been dealt with first. Spot had often wondered if Mary had ever expected to use her midwife training as much as she actually did when taking over the newsboys lodging house. But the various illnesses and injuries the boys presented her with yielded countless hours of opportunity for her to do just that. And, in all actuality, the boys were lucky as hell to have Mary running their boarding house for reasons that went far beyond her knowledge of medicine. She seemed to be the essential glue that held the Brooklyn boys together, and the people that came into contact with Mary always seemed to be far better for the exposure they had to her, even though it often encompassed a fair amount of cursing and gruffness as well.

But, as Spot laid Flit down onto an old blanket Mary had quickly spread across the living room floor, he saw Mary start, looking toward Rummy in alarm. And then Spot, too, turned towards his second in command as he heard what must have shocked Mary. A soft moaning was coming from within the blanket Rummy was stiffly holding as well as quite a bit of erratic movement.

Mary turned silently towards Spot, her eyes clearly relaying her confusion, but Spot wasted no time in making his way to Rummy's side to view Kate rousing from her prior stillness. He looked worriedly over the girl, seeing in the light of the candles the bruises lining her jaw and caked blood framing parts of her face that had been invisible in the darkness. He felt his breath catch in his chest again as he saw her eyes pop open, terror and pain clearly searing through them.

"I have to go…you have to let me….I have to go…" Kate muttered, pushing slightly harder against Rummy's hold on her.

Spot attempted to put a calming hand on her arm as she began to struggle even more fitfully against Rummy's grasp, but the gentle act of comfort seemed to have the opposite effect. Kate's arm yanked against his touch, while her other hand aggressively shot up into Rummy's nose. The surprise of the attack caused Rummy to falter, dropping Kate to the ground with a loud thud as he held his nose and wiped his watering eyes. Kate pushed herself off the floor in a swift movement, wildly looking around the small room.

Spot's stomach churned as he took in the sight of Kate before him, clothed in only her undergarments. Without the dirty blanket wrapped about her, he was able to clearly see the extent of her injuries. Her thin chemise was stained with blood along her abdomen and thighs, her jaw was swollen and bruised and her long hair was caked with dirt and most likely dried blood. But beyond the horrifying injuries he now saw, what disturbed him far more was the feral gleam her usually beautiful eyes had taken on. She jerked her head back and forth like a trapped animal, looking for any and all opportunities to fight her way to freedom.

"Kate," Spot said softly, taking a tentative step forward with his hands held up. "It's me."

But even with his disarming posture and words, she seemed unable to recognize anyone that she now saw before her. She leapt back, tripping over her bare feet as she shrieked, "No! You can't keep me here!"

"Kate," Spot attempted again as he saw her back up further into the kitchenette area. "It's me, Spot. You don't have to be afraid."

As he made another attempt at forward motion, she erratically grabbed a small knife from the drying dishes on the counter next to her, pointing it at him in warning.

"Don't come any closer," she hissed, her arm shaking with the unfamiliarity of wielding a weapon. "You can't keep me here. I won't let you continue to abuse me in the manner you have been. I'm leaving here on my own terms." Spot saw tears fall out of her eyes as she blinked in terror, turning the knife to her own throat, whispering, "Even if that means dying."

He gasped in alarm, preparing to tackle the knife out of her grasp by any means necessary, but a firm hand stopped him from moving any closer to Kate's shaking form. He turned to see Mary slowly sliding in front of him, gently pushing him out of Kate's line of sight. Mary's voice was soft and sincere as she murmured, "My darling girl, there is no more need to fear. You are out of harm's way and in an infirmary, but we must tend to your wounds before you can leave."

Kate stared hard at Mary, still unsteadily holding the blade to her neck as more tears dripped down her face, but she made no more threats, instead, looking to Mary for further explanation.

After several more tense moments passed Mary gently whispered, "You must be in a great deal of pain, my dear. Perhaps you might like something for it and then we can have a look at what needs mending."

Kate again stared fixedly at Mary for a few moments before slowly bringing the knife down at her side and nodding weakly as she gripped the counter for support.

Mary moved swiftly, taking the bottle of laudanum out of a cupboard in the kitchen, and pouring a doseful into a glass for Kate to drink. Kate looked to Mary wearily, as the older woman wrapped an arm around her torso to support her wobbly frame while handing Kate the small glass of pain medicine. Then, with her free hand, Mary deftly snatched the knife out of Kate's grasp and led her brusquely into the spare room from which the boys had originally entered the apartment. The door shut with a definitive click and Spot turned first to look at Rummy's injured, worried face then to Flit's still body on the ground.

"Ey, Spot."

The small voice whispering his name made him realize that in the commotion, he had completely forgotten Skip. The young boy looked scared and tired, attempting to stifle a yawn as Spot bent down to meet Skip's stare. The Brooklyn leader patted the boy's back gently, saying, "Thanks for your help tonight, Skip. I got a lotta questions that still need answerin', but they're gonna hafta wait til all this other stuff is sorted first."

Skip nodded as he rubbed his eyes tiredly. Spot gave the small boy another pat on the back and said, "Why don't you head to bed for the night, kid. I'll check in with you in the mornin'. But remember," Spot paused, giving the boy a meaningful look. "Not a word to anyone."

Skip nodded gratefully and then walked slowly out of the apartment toward the bunkroom.

Spot found himself pacing the floor as the minutes seemed to stretch on endlessly. Rummy sat at the kitchen table, using a wet rag to clean the blood from his face, mirroring Spot's anxious pacing with a continuous foot tap.

When the door finally opened and Mary made her way toward Flit, shutting the door quietly behind her, Spot murmured, "Mary." Attempting to get the old woman's attention, but he immediately shut his mouth when Mary turned to him, her face serious and her eyes filled with an uncharacteristic rage.

"It would do you well to let all your boys know that if any of them had any hand at all in what's happened to that poor girl, may God have mercy on their souls, because they won't have none from me. They best make their way out of my house, lest I castrate them myself."

All Spot could do was nod, staring at the closed door to the spare room, before he turned to aid Mary with Flit.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Spot rubbed his hands over his face roughly, halfheartedly watching the sun begin to rise through the window in Mary's spare bedroom. He could barely keep his eyes open as he sat in an old wooden chair next to the bed where Kate now soundlessly slept. To say Spot felt tired truly didn't begin to encompass the mind-numbing, soul-crushing weariness that had taken a hold of his body over the past several days. Saying he felt absolutely, fucking spent captured the feeling with much more accuracy.

But there he sat, despite the exhaustion that seemed to seep through his pores, waiting as patiently as he could for Katherine Moore to rouse from her drug-induced slumber. The last thing he wanted to do was confront the girl that had finally fallen into somewhat of a peaceful coma several hours prior, but he knew he had no choice.

Almost two days had passed since Flit had collapsed with Kate near the docks, and Spot had wasted no time in collecting as much information about the strange occurrence as possible. With his bird still recovering from some fairly nasty stab wounds to his leg and gut, Spot had been forced to seek out the few others who could relay the origin of Kate and Flit's attackers. But, upon finishing a long conversation with Skip, all of Spot's preconceived ideas about Kate's rescue began to dissipate. He had almost felt like scoffing when Skip had first relayed the details involving Kate's journey to Brooklyn. The young boy was well known for his exaggeration and his tale seemed wrought with it. But after receiving not one, but three stories that eerily confirmed all of what Skip had communicated, Spot had found it difficult to dismiss the emphatic boy's account as another fictitious venture. And after letting this information ferment for several hours, he began to realize that, in all honesty, he wasn't able to confidently deny any of the confusing claims he had heard. And he knew innately that the only one who could do so convincingly enough for at the very least his comfort was Kate herself. His boys, however, would probably require a much more rigorous screening of Kate once news broke about Flit. And this was precisely why he needed to get in front of this, well before the impending trainwreck could even commence.

Originally, he had insisted that she rest and heal for several days before he even attempted to approach her, but the troubling information he now was in possession of made him reconsider this. And, her behavior over the prior two days had only added to his inclination to speak to her immediately.

She had been erratic and completely incoherent. Spot shuddered slightly at the recent memory of Mary forcing a dose of laudanum into Kate's mouth while Spot held down her wildly flailing limbs. He wasn't sure if he would be met with more panic and violence when she roused again from sleep, but that, unfortunately, was the least of his worries. He knew the most important thing now was Kate telling him exactly what had transpired over the last five weeks, from start to finish. And if she proved incapable of doing so, it would be even harder for him to speak out in her defense.

Spot's eyes focused on Kate's form again as he heard her moan softly and fidget under the blankets that Mary had bundled about her several hours before. The bruises that lined her jaw shone much more distinctly in the warm light of the rising sun, her face still tense in sleep. But strangely, even in spite of her face's uncharacteristic hardness, Spot still felt drawn to her, having to suppress the impulse to reach out and stroke a curl gently off her forehead. He had always felt an inherent need to protect her, even when she had been with Jack, and now, sitting beside her, he was somewhat amazed at how strongly this feeling still surged within him.

To be sure, the natural instinct to shield Kate had certainly not been spurred on by her actual _need_ to be safeguarded. She had been shockingly independent and even more startlingly self-assured when he had first met her. And as he got to know her better, Spot, the famed Brooklynite himself, had actually been somewhat in awe of her. The natural charm that had worked so flawlessly on all the other women he had been with, which had been quite a few, had fallen completely flat with Kate. She seemed to demand something more than the charismatic veneer that he had become accustomed to women swooning over, and for the first time in his life, he had felt himself complying to these requirements, almost instinctively. She had always had an uncanny ability to recognize when he was being disingenuous or stoic, and had just as easily been able to draw him out of these moods. Her skill was infuriating at times, but also completely mesmerizing. He had met many people who had been considered strong simply from the power they used to wield their perspective skills, but Kate's strength had lain in her amazing, yet subtle ability to read people. And perhaps it was this talent that had caused Spot to stop and take real notice of her, something he had never felt the need to do for most anyone else, especially the many women that frequented his bed. The closer he looked, though, the more he realized that it was the reflection of his own skills within Kate that made him pay attention. But, if anything, this insight only permanently secured his originally tentative investment.

Yet, because he had immediately picked up on this skill that Kate so easily employed, it had made it that much harder for him to come to terms with her complete submission to Jack Kelly. Even in the face of Jack's abhorrent treatment, Kate still seemed so willing to succumb to the clearly unworthy Manhattan leader, and this had angered Spot greatly. How could these two opposing forces exist, side by side, in one person? Why had she not been able to see what had so completely apparent to everyone else?

Now, though, as Spot gazed upon her still form, he felt none of the anger and resentment that usually took hold of him when he pondered on these questions. If anything, an immense sorrow filled him instead. He thankfully had her under his watchful eye again, but judging from her behavior over the past two days, she was much more than physically scarred by whatever ordeal Flit had rescued her from. And, ultimately, only time would tell if these changes would take a permanent hold.

"Spot Conlon."

The hoarse voice jolted him from his thoughts and he turned to focus on a somewhat alert, familiar face, but the blank, constricted stare that met him was not at all recognizable and certainly not what Spot had been anticipating. Kate looked at him impassively, fear evident in her movements as she rearranged the blankets around herself, then gingerly pushed up into a sitting position. The longer Spot continued to meet her gaze, the more he felt his stomach churn in uneasiness, her hollow orbs and flat features mutating her usually beautiful and vibrant face into a disturbing caricature.

"Kate," was all he managed to say in response.

Her eyes traveled up and down his face, still remaining eerily vacant, but her body shook slightly as he leaned forward in his chair. He waited, silently deferring to her for any cues on how to proceed, but she made no move to speak again, instead turning her head to focus on the window across the room.

Spot felt as if he were staring at a complete stranger. It was certainly Katherine Moore before him, but in another incomprehensible way it was not. Something seemed wholly unnatural about her and so completely offputting that it took him several moments to regain his calm sense of purpose again. Spot cleared his throat, hoping the noise would secure Kate's attention, but she continued to stare out the window emotionlessly, her wringing hands, however, clear evidence of the storm raging on beneath the surface.

"Kate," he said gently, willing her to respond in any way to his presence. But her focus remained elsewhere, her body trembling again as he leaned in even closer to her. He stared at her worriedly, wanting to reach out and touch her tense face as a means of comfort, but he hesitated, not sure if it would only make things worse.

"Kate, please look at me," Spot said quietly, somewhat hopeful that the earnestness in his voice would miraculously transform Kate into the girl he so desperately wanted to see again. She squeezed her eyes shut, another shudder wracking her body, but upon opening them, she again looked away.

So, out of ideas, Spot pushed himself up to stand in Kate's line of sight, blocking the window from view and murmuring a little more forcefully, "Kate, I need you to talk to me. I need you to tell me what happened."

Her gaze slowly wandered back to his, her green eyes dark and glassy. He met her stare warmly, attempting to silently radiate some type of understanding to her. But, without warning, she severed their connection by dipping her head down and mumbling, "There's nothing to tell, Spot."

Spot felt his next question spill forth from his mouth almost in disbelief, "Then where have you been?"

Kate merely shrugged half-heartedly, still avoiding his gaze. He noted the tremor in her body when his voice sounded above a whisper but was at a loss as to a softer way to proceed. He could feel his tiredness and frustration rushing to the forefront at alarming speed, and he was aware that he had very little will power left to subdue these feelings. Although Spot was well known for having quite a long fuse, his lack of sleep coupled with Kate's current inaccessibility were wearing on him quickly. But, even so, he attempted a deep breath anyway, steadying himself, and refocusing his gaze to calmly meet Kate's.

"Kate," Spot said emphatically, leaning gingerly over her until she had no choice but to make eye contact with him. "I need answers from you. You know I wouldn't keep pressing you if it wasn't important."

She visibly flinched at his close proximity and her eyes flashed momentarily in fear and distrust. A look, he realized painfully, Kate had never given him before. But all too quickly, before he could even address it, her face morphed back into a lifeless mask, her eyes staring through him as she softly muttered, "I don't have any answers, Spot."

He had a sudden urge to shake her, to snap her out of whatever spell she was under in the hopes of bringing back the person he knew and cared for. He so desperately wished to see the passion back in her eyes, the laugh in her smile and, at the very least, the life in her face. Why was she stonewalling him so inflexibly? Before, he had always been the recipient of her warmth and trust, and in a way, he supposed he had taken for granted the fact that she had given it so freely. Now, as he leaned close to her, he was very aware that the privilege she had bestowed upon him in the past had been a rare gift.

His eyes searched hers for a moment more, calculating his next, most efficient move. The last thing he wanted to do was push her until she broke, which he could tell would be relatively easy to do. But, if he applied no pressure to her at all, she would almost certainly give him nothing to work with. If so many other things didn't depend on her account of these clearly painful events, he would have left it for as long as she needed, but that was not the case. He quickly decided that direct, concise questions were his best bet. A rapid fire alternative would still hurt but would be over much more quickly than demanding the full narrative from her.

"Why were the Fiore goons carryin' you off from your parents' place, Kate?" he said, tilting his head slightly closer to hers, hoping he might receive a legitimate answer in return.

"I don't know."

Her whisper was barely audible, her eyes bearing soullessly into his. He froze for a moment, their faces mere inches apart. Normally, being this close would have made touching her entirely irresistible, but the heightened terror her body seemed to be emitting in response to his nearness caused him to back away from her and return to his position in front of the window. He pushed forward with the next query he had, trying not to feel the twinge of hurt her evident fearfulness had caused him.

"What were you doing in a tenement house in Queens?" he asked staring unblinkingly at her pale face. She looked back up at him, something familiar flashing through her dark gaze, but it was gone so quickly, Spot couldn't be sure it had actually happened at all.

"I don't know, Spot," she said, looking away from him once more. He saw her body tremble again, and he felt an intense pang of guilt surge through him, but he forcefully pushed it down, knowing that losing his momentum wouldn't help either of them get through this any faster.

"Why didn't you leave for all those weeks when the door was unlocked and no one was there with you?"

She furrowed her brows, almost in confusion as she shook her head slowly, murmuring, "I don't know."

To which Spot exasperatedly demanded, "Kate, did you stab my bird, Flit, multiple times, when he was trying to get you out?"

Her eyes filled with genuine shock, the first emotional response Spot had secured from her yet. He noted his own surprise as he saw the shiny glaze of tears in her eyes, and, strangely, he felt a tiny sliver of hope fill him, recognizing that any emotional response from her was a step forward. She shook her head, her eyes darting about wildly. His breath caught in his chest as Kate appeared poised to respond with more than her repeated confused sentiments. But, all too suddenly, the emotion seemed to deflate from her body instantly as she flatly replied, "Spot, I—I don't know."

Spot gritted his teeth as, for a second time, the tiredness and anxiety he was barely suppressing surged up within him. He stared hard at Kate, somehow managing to temper his voice into a low growl as he said, "I need answers, Kate. Otherwise, I can't help you."

She stared back emptily, replying, "Then don't."

And, before he even realized it, he had aggressively grabbed her arms, pulling her as close to his face as was possible, snarling, "Goddammit! You stabbed him didn't you? Why are you lying to me?"

He saw the fear flood throughout her body as her face paled and her frame trembled fragilely in his grasp. He immediately released her, berating himself silently for the inappropriate evolution his line of questioning had derailed into, and he angrily kicked the wooden chair that was next to the bed, hurling a definitive, "Fuck!" into the air.

He avoided Kate's gaze as he paced to and fro haphazardly. He didn't want to look into her eyes for a multitude of reasons at this point, the most important one being that he knew, definitively, _she_ had been the one to attack Flit. He also knew that it had not been done with malicious intent, but as far as his boys were concerned, that didn't matter.

"I'll go, Spot."

Her whispered statement was barely audible, but Spot ceased his pacing, turning towards her. The look of desperation that her face had taken on had no effect on his hardened features. He squinted meaningfully at her for a moment, then with quiet certainty, stated, "You'll go if and when I decide it. But until then, Katherine, you'll stay here."

And without another word, Spot Conlon moved swiftly out of the room, closing the door securely behind him.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

 _"A life for a life."_

My eyes popped open, my body jolting upright into a panicked wakefulness as I found myself surrounded by darkness. I tried to calm my breathing, the loud gasps sounding from me like a consumptive child, but my fear quickly overpowered my attempts. I turned my head to and fro, frantically searching for the source of the strange voice I had heard moments before. But, as my eyes adjusted more fully to the darkness, realization flooded through me. I was in Mary's spare bedroom, the same place I had resided for nearly the past two weeks. No one else was in here with me, though I heard the soft rustling of Mary adjusting back under her covers in the adjacent room, probably calming herself when she heard no further cries from me. It had just been another terrifying nightmare.

I felt a cold sweat covering me, and as I reached up to my face to wipe my brow, I also became aware of the stray tears lining my cheeks. I sighed as I used the blanket to dry my eyes, exhausted but still reeling with zeal from the terror that had filled me moments before.

Needing some outlet for my overabundance of energy, I quietly stood up, not wishing to disturb Mary any further, and tiptoed to the window next to my bed. I laid my head against the glass, attempting to let the iciness of the pane soothe my panic, but when my heart continued to pound with no intention of slowing, I knew I needed something more. I quickly threw on my dressing robe and pulled on my stockings and shoes, pushing the window open gently enough to avoid the loud creak it habitually emitted. Once wide enough, I slipped through, tiptoeing up the fire escape stairs on my way to the roof.

The wind whipped about me chaotically as I mounted the last steps, but I reveled in the coldness of the air, enjoying the feeling of my long, unrestrained hair being pushed back by the sheer force of it. Although the night was quiet around me, the cold sensation on my limbs captured my focus, allowing my anxiety to slowly subside. There was som ething so visceral and freeing about being outside that I almost felt a smile touch my lips. But, I quickly stifled it, fearful that the simple expression of contentment would lead to an explosion of emotions that I neither wanted nor felt capable of dealing with. I had kept a tight lid on myself, especially for the past week, lest I should again unleash the Pandora's box of chaos that always seemed to be lurking so near to the surface.

"Kate…"

The soft voice momentarily jolted me out of my calm, terror again filling me. But, all too suddenly, an acute annoyance replaced my fear as I deduced who was now behind me.

"Just give me a few minutes, Rummy," I muttered irritably, shooting a harsh glare in the direction of the tall newsboy that slowly separated himself from the enveloping shadows.

I sighed as I watched his slow approach from my periphery, wishing for just a few more moments of solitude. But he seemed to care little about my agitation, as he lazily leaned his back against the ledge beside me, taking great care not to get too close, and calmly stated, "You know you ain't supposed to be out here, doll."

I scoffed angrily, distancing myself further from Rummy in a small gesture of protest, but Rummy only shook his head and chuckled, completely weakening my disgruntled demonstration as he said, "C'mon, Kate, you know I'm right. 'Sides, you'll catch your death out here. I'm surprised you ain't an icicle yet."

"Well, that would certainly solve all of King Conlon's problems," I whispered sourly, feeling a sharp pang of despondency reverberate in my chest at the undeniable truth my words almost certainly held.

Waking up in Brooklyn under Spot Conlon's watchful eye two weeks' prior had been bewildering to say the least. He undoubtedly was not the first person I had expected to see when I became lucid enough to piece together my surroundings, though the dreamlike consciousness I had existed within before that moment had certainly given me no clear indication of what reality I might resurface in either. Truthfully, the last memory I had been able to confidently recall before the strange fog had commenced was Spot's silent but very clear rejection of my professed affection for him, thus finalizing whatever connection we might have had with one another. And with that reality solidly in my mind, the fact that I awoke to find Spot Conlon as my self-professed rescuer had thrown me into more confusion than I knew how to handle. For Spot, at least, our relationship appeared to still be an active, open-ended storyline.

And, for me, that had been a very terrifying actuality.

I knew his flash of anger after my first cogent moments had originated from a place of frustration and fear, not the ire he actually projected. I also easily saw that it truly was his desperate mission to keep me safe, for whatever reason, which explained the intense investigation he insisted on immediately conducting. But, I had been unable to acquiesce to any of his demanding inquiries, no matter how much I wished I could. My alleged five-week absence had yielded plenty of horrifying nightmares, but beyond quick flashes of voices and lights, I had nothing solid to offer up to the king of Brooklyn. And the little evidence that I did possess from my time away was much too humiliating to ever admit to him. But, despite my struggle to shield him from what I did know to be true, he managed to find out anyway.

I shivered involuntarily as the memory from my third day in Brooklyn washed over me. Although Spot had initially stormed off with a definitive warning for me to stay put, I was in no position to be able to heed his strict command. I felt myself stifled in the small room that Mary had graciously set up for me, and although the kind widow made sure to check on me throughout the day, these times were fleeting enough for my thoughts to weave a very traumatizing web of anxiety about me. Thus, after three full days of this maddening exposure, I could take no more. My third night in Brooklyn, the terror I had desperately been fighting against completely consumed me, and my only response had been to flee. When I alarmingly realized that my door had been locked from the outside, barring me in place, I had aggressively pushed through the window, not hearing the creak that sounded like an alarm after me, and certainly not having the awareness that Spot had immediately followed me out. I had not even felt the stitches on my abdomen begin to rip open as I fought viciously against Spot's strong, impassable grip once he had cornered me against the lodging house building.

But, after I had seen Spot's face pale considerably and had slowly followed his horrified gaze to the quickly expanding blood stain on my white nightgown, I felt the pain rush forth, stopping my struggle in its tracks. I heard myself whimper as Spot's strong, warm arms encircled me, lifting me and carrying me back up the fire escape and through the window. He had called loudly for Mary, but my head had been spinning uncontrollably, the subsequent noises and movements not registering as anything coherent.

When I came to again I had cried out as white hot pain had mercilessly filled me, Mary's swift restitching of my abdominal womb causing tears to fill my eyes. But, I had quickly found more than one reason to weep. The only evidence from those blurry five weeks had been a written descriptor across my lower abdomen, a strange signature of sorts that indicted me for sins I could not remember committing. On my first night in Brooklyn, Mary alone had been the witness to the shameful carving of the word WHORE on my stomach, but thankfully she had silently stitched, bandaged, and hidden the brand, never mentioning it again. However, that night, my disgraceful marking had been on full display for Spot Conlon himself to study, opening me up to his even more demanding questions and unbridled rage.

 _"Who did this, Kate? Tell me who the fuck did this to you!"_

Spot's blue eyes had been on fire as he had bellowed this, while Mary had simultaneously pushed him back and attempted to steady my wildly flailing limbs. The tears had flown freely as I had stared back at Spot's enraged gaze, with only whimpers and sobs as my answers. The disgust was plainly written across his face, as I had known it would be. All he could utter afterwards was, "Dammit, Kate" over and over again, until Mary finally forced him out of the room.

After that night, Spot had not come back to see me again, though I had viewed his comings and goings from a distance. And, even though his avoidance was a clear indicator that he wanted nothing more to do with me, I had been shocked to find that he had ordered both Mary and Rummy to bar me from any further attempts to leave Brooklyn. A strange mandate indeed considering his obvious disgust, but one that he had yet to lift, even after two weeks of consistent ostracism.

"Kate, that's the last thing he wants," Rummy said gently, pulling me back from my depressing thoughts and giving me a small, earnest smile.

I turned away from Rummy's good natured stare, in an attempt to stifle the tears I felt welling up in my eyes, somehow managing to state stoically, "He can't keep me locked away, Rummy. I'm not his prisoner."

"Hate to break it to you, lovey, but Spot Conlon can do whatever the hell he wants. 'Specially in Brooklyn."

I glowered at Rummy, but made no move to disagree, completely aware of the truth in his statement. I had been well acquainted with Spot's notoriety throughout New York, even prior to meeting him, but I suppose I had never considered before now that in Brooklyn, his reputation was far more prevalent. I actually found myself somewhat confused as I witnessed firsthand the way his boys were in awe of his every move. The whole of Brooklyn seemed to view him as more of an intangible god than the mere mortal he was. It had certainly been unsettling for me to see Spot from this perspective, if only because it made him that much further removed from me, an ever widening chasm with no plans of stopping.

I shook my head, trying to rid my thoughts of those mesmerizing, inaccessible blue eyes, before turning to Rummy and mumbling, "Well, I'm not part of Brooklyn. I don't even know how he can begin to claim jurisdiction over me."

Rummy met my angry, hurt gaze easily, his eyes radiating an interesting mixture of concern and warmth as I began to shiver from the gust of cold wind that suddenly blew across the roof.

"Kate, I think he's well within his rights ta overreach at this point. An' I'm pretty sure even you can see why."

I scoffed again, stating exasperatedly, "Then why doesn't he just let me go, Rummy?"

I heard Rummy strike a match against the ledge and saw the subsequent puff of smoke blow into the night air around us as I impatiently waited for his response. But as I watched the smoke coil up to the sky above us, I felt Rummy's arm curl around my shoulders gently, and I turned to him as he said, "Why can't you just let him keep you safe, doll? Why are you insistin' on fightin' him?"

I felt several tears seep from my lids as I maintained eye contact with Rummy, whispering, "Because I don't think he understands how easily he could destroy me."

Rummy's eyes widened in slight shock, his posture seeming to beckon for more information from me. But, I simply turned away, wiping my eyes roughly with my hands. Being around Spot Conlon had only added an extra layer of confusion to my already very muddled thoughts, and a further level of pain and worry that I was not at all capable of handling. Old wounds had been opened during my short stay in Brooklyn while I was still desperately trying to understand the new ones. And, when Spot finally did sever ties with me, as was the inevitable outcome of our time together, what shape would that leave me in then?

My thoughts sadly wandered through these actualities as I allowed Rummy to help me back down the fire escape and through the window. And, after Rummy had finally left me alone, securing my door behind him, I strangely felt my despondency give way to a new emotion I hadn't been expecting: a sincere pang of longing for the absent Brooklyn leader.

And that, in itself, was confirmation enough of why I needed to leave.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

When Jack Kelly had first raised his hand to me a year into our relationship, something inside of me forever changed. It had been the first time in my life that I had felt utterly powerless to defend myself, and surprisingly, my failure to fight back had little to do with his overpowering strength and size. It had been the horrifying revelation that someone who expressed such affection for me would so easily demonstrate the opposite. My inability to compute that thought alone had been enough to halt any struggle I might have put up against Jack's first few blows. And, consequently, that had been all he needed to take complete and violent control of me, a reign of terror from which I was still feeling the traumatizing effects.

So, when the opportunity to lay my own hands on the newly reinstated Manhattan leader had presented itself one cold afternoon in Brooklyn, weeks after my involuntary sentence had commenced, I made the most of it. It had been surprisingly easy to slip past Mary in the apartment and then move on toward the common room where the newsies had jovially gathered. But what had truly been invigorating was the shocked glaze that Jack's deep brown eyes had slowly taken on as he caught sight of me over the throng of people. The mixture of horror and disbelief radiating from him as he registered that I, Katherine Moore, was indeed the one smiling at him from the entryway had certainly been gratifying. And as I made my way to the center of the room, I saw Spot slowly turn as well, but his face had been anything but surprised. He had shaken his head, a frustrated glare in his eyes as he had moved to the periphery of the crowd. It had been the closest I had been to Spot in weeks, momentarily causing me to lose my focus, but I quickly shook off his harsh gaze, flicking my eyes back to Jack.

A sudden hush came over the room as Jack whispered, "Kate, oh my God…what are you doing here?"

And, that had been enough of an introduction for me to reach up and aggressively slap the look of shock off his ridiculous face. I had reveled in the all-encompassing rush that my fists connecting with his body had given me, an injustice finally righted in my eyes. But truthfully, my intentions had been much more far-reaching than simply giving Jack the beating he so amply deserved. It had been another attempt, in an already very long list of endeavors, that I had hoped would finally force Spot to release me.

I had found that the Brooklyn leader had a much higher tolerance for disobedience and disrespect than I had originally assumed. He had completely ignored my first few acts of rebellion, maintaining his distance without a thought, and he had barely batted an eye when I had instigated a physical altercation with one of his newsie underlings, simply allowing Rummy to drag me back to my dreaded prison cell of a room. The subsequent schemes I had developed to secure my banishment from Brooklyn had yielded more of the same, filling me with an even firmer drive to ensure that I got the outcome I so desired.

And, several nights prior, as I had lain uncomfortably awake in bed for what seemed like the hundredth time, a different thought suddenly struck me, one that I was almost certain Spot would find exceedingly difficult to ignore. I had heard some of the younger Brooklynites jabbering away about Jack Kelly's forthcoming visit, an attempt to not only reinstate Manhattan as an ally but to also announce Jack's re-ascent as leader. Thus, any chaos that I could cause during this momentous event would surely be an embarrassment on Brooklyn, one that Spot would have no choice but to deal with.

And now, as I sat in Spot's attic room, against the wall that I had been aggressively thrown toward a half-hour before, I knew that my plan was playing out exactly as I had hoped it would. Spot's sharp order to "get me the fuck up to the attic so he could deal with me properly" had been the reaction I had been waiting for all these long weeks. It meant I would finally be free of him, a finite end to our storyline at last.

"No way she'll get away with it this time."

I perked up as I heard the newsie stationed outside my locked door mutter this sentiment derisively. The following scoff confirmed that he was not alone.

"Fuck, no, Dims! Did you see Conlon's face? She'll be lucky if he don't kill her."

I heard the two boys snicker quietly, as the one, Dims, replied confidently, "I sure as fuck wouldn't want ta be the one that had to answer to Spot Conlon right now."

I almost found myself giddy at the two boys' speculative discussion, further comforting proof that I had finally pulled off what I so desperately wanted. But suddenly, the scuffle of boots and creaking of floorboards interrupted my thoughts and I leaned forward to better hear what had disrupted their conversation.

"Go and help Mary with check in for the night. I have somethin' I need to deal with," I heard Spot order quietly but firmly.

As I heard the heavy footsteps of the two boys traipsing down the creaky stairs, I slowly stood up, steeling myself for what I hoped would be my final meeting with the Brooklyn King. I heard a key jingle lightly and then a definitive click as the door to Spot's room unlocked and opened. Surprisingly, my breath caught slightly in my chest as he entered, his light hair dangling near his firm jaw and his blue eyes harshly focused on me. My body's reaction to seeing him so close to me after weeks of his avoidance culminated in a heady feeling that rushed through me intoxicatingly. I found myself unintentionally marveling at the ripple in his exposed arm muscles as he gently closed the door and locked it behind him, and then I felt my stomach constrict tightly as he slowly made his way to stand in front of me, his face taking on an unnerving blankness and his arms crossing against his semi-exposed chest. He looked down at me, his blue eyes glowing with an indiscernible spark as I quickly shook myself out of the reverie he had caused, preparing for the rage-filled diatribe that I knew must be on the tip of his tongue.

"Are you done?"

His unexpected question physically jolted me, and I squinted my eyes at him in pure confusion as I managed to whisper, "What?"

He leaned in closer to me, his face level with mine. My breath hitched in my chest as he placed both hands on either side of my head, uncomfortably boxing me in so I had no choice but to face him. I was wholly intimidated in that moment, but also utterly resentful that his body and scent were having such a mind-numbing effect on me. I pushed against his chest, turning my face away from his as I growled, "Stop it, Conlon."

I felt one of his hands graze my cheek, his thumb and forefinger lifting my chin to meet his unwavering stare again as he whispered, "Are. You. Done?"

My eyes widened further as he enunciated each word quietly, but with eerie precision, his firm hold on my face not allowing me to turn away from his blistering blue orbs. I found myself floundering, my footing with Spot completely lost from his unexpected reaction. But, when I saw him poised to continue, relief flowed over me as I immediately assumed that his next words must be the banishment that I so rightfully deserved.

"I have quite a few rounds left in me, love, if you aren't."

And, as his infuriatingly calm words began to sink in as well as the knowing smirk I saw tugging at the corner of his lips, I felt something within me decisively snap. Without a thought I felt tears blind my vision as I roughly smacked him across the face, screeching, "You son of a bitch! You fucking bastard!"

But, still, he did not relent. His body remained solidly around me, encasing my movements as I began to flail, hit and even scratch his exposed flesh. I threw all of myself at him aggressively, minutes passing between us with only my sobs sounding throughout the room as I lost all control of myself.

"What else, Kate?"

I had felt my rage waning, but his whisper re-ignited it. None of my damning actions were affecting him the way I so desperately wanted them to. He still had a firm command over the situation, no matter what chaos I threw at him, and that, in turn, sent me spiraling out of control. So, desperately, I lifted my beleaguered limbs again slapping and kicking him, this time from pure frustration, while I shrieked, "You fucking bastard! I hate you! I hate you!"

I felt my voice cracking and my fists begin to numb as I fell to my knees in exhaustion, covering my tear stained face with my shaking hands. I wailed into my palms as I rocked back and forth for what seemed like hours, the nightmarish flashes of my lost time pushing forward with more certainty and detail than ever before. I fought against them, trying to put a cap on my emotional explosion while fully hoping Spot Conlon would be gone when I finally resurfaced from my all-consuming grief.

But, as my hands fell away from my undoubtedly red and snot-covered face, my eyes immediately widened as I was met by Spot's sparkling blue ones. He sat across from me on the floor, leaning lazily back on his arms, studying me. His red suspenders had been pushed off his shoulders, most likely enabling him to better contain my wild movements. I maintained eye contact with him as he sat up slowly, reaching out and gently grazing the side of my face with his knuckles in comfort, but I shook him off aggressively, spitting in his direction.

"So you're still not done, doll? Ok, what else?" his eyes constricted dangerously as he posed the harsh question, calmly awaiting my response.

"Leave," I hissed hoarsely. "Stop delaying the inevitable, Conlon, and fucking leave. Or better yet, let me leave. I'm clearly fit for a madhouse and have no business being here with you or your boys."

He narrowed his stare further as he gently snorted, stating, "I'm a little offended that you've made me out to be this stupid. You really think I don't know what you're doing?"

I glared at him, standing up on my unsteady legs to put more space between us as I snarled, "That should be even more reason for you to send me on my way, you pompous bastard."

He stood as well, quickly cornering me against the wall again before I made a move toward the open window. I slapped him hard across the face, pushing my fists against his chest as I screamed, "What could you possibly gain from this? I know you don't want me! How could you? I'm tainted! Ruined!" I felt his strong hands cup my face, firmly refocusing me to his gaze as I tiredly fought against him.

"Enough," he whispered, his face inches from mine. "Enough of all of this."

"No," I sputtered exhaustedly, unable to quell my defiance. "You know how this will end, Conlon. The same way it always ends between us. Maybe not today, or next week, but eventually you'll be done with this, and I can't let you be the one who decides. So let me fucking end it, Conlon! Just let me have this one last thing, and then let me go!"

His beautiful eyes and strong features bore down on me and I felt more tears fill my lids as I wrestled against my overwhelming desire to wrap my arms around him, to push my lips against his, to satiate and at the same time flame the wildness within me. He seemed to read my struggle and I felt his thumbs lightly caress my damp cheeks in a calming manner as I let my tears fall freely.

I closed my eyes, attempting to escape him and hopefully quell my unrelenting impulses as well, but I immediately felt his warm breath in my ear, bringing me back with a soul-shattering tremor as he whispered, "You need someone to save you from yourself, Kate. So why don't you let me?"

"Because I need to have control!" My swollen eyes popped open as I screeched this sentiment, pushing my fists against his chest with all of my remaining strength, but his eyes simply narrowed as he tightened his hold on me, golden hair falling into his eyes from the struggle.

"Why can't you see that that's the last thing you fuckin' need?" he snapped harshly, making me gasp as he dropped his hands from my face and roughly grabbed my hips, tilting me up towards him while also causing me to throw my arms around his neck in order to stabilize my footing. My body ignited with heat as it collided with his, leaving me momentarily dumbfounded. He quickly took this opportunity to softly brush his lips to mine and whisper, "You're crashing and burning, Kate, but the only way to make it stop is to free what's inside of you, not control it."

"Stop it!" I warned ferociously, coming back to myself long enough to drop my arms from around his neck and then push them against his chest violently. "I mean it, Conlon!"

But his hands simply forced my pelvis to slam into his hip bone, confounding me with a surge of pleasure as he said, "Throw yourself off the fucking edge you're on. You can't trust yourself to keep balance right now anyway, and I'll be there to catch you before you can even come close to the bottom."

I scoffed at him quietly, my heart pounding in my chest as my body slowly attempted to recover from the intense sensations surging through it. I barely managed to refocus my gaze on his blue eyes as I whispered, "And why should I trust you?"

And then, without warning Spot aggressively laid his mouth on mine, pushing his tongue almost to the back of my throat. I felt my mind splinter into millions of pieces, my body surging with uncontrollable electricity as I melted into a sub-conscious state. I felt another wave of pleasure flow through me as Spot pulled my skirt to my lower thigh and forced my legs apart with his knee, barely registering that my back had slammed into the wall behind me. All of my senses were suspended to wholly focus on the feel of Spot's hands, his tongue, his body. These thrills surged higher and higher within me, reaching an overwhelming and terrifying pinnacle, but, slowly and safely, floating back to a manageable feeling as Spot calmed his touches and wielded a gentle but firm control of my shaking body.

My eyes fluttered in exhaustion as I made a final attempt to look up at him, his face considerably softer and a ghost of a smirk forming on his mouth as he huskily whispered, "Because I've been over the edge many, many times, Kate. But, unlike you, I know exactly how to come back."

And I fell into him, relenting, releasing, finally allowing his strong arms to surround me and my mind to rest.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

"Please, just…take care of her."

Spot felt an irritated groan begin to build in his chest as Jack Kelly's voice pierced abruptly through his peaceful slumber like a loud, unwanted alarm. His eyes slowly opened to the semi-darkness around him, and he took a deep breath, forcefully willing the two-week old conversation to the back of his mind.

"What is it, Tom?"

Katherine Moore's sleepy murmur startled Spot, and he worriedly stared down at the dark-haired girl lying languidly atop his body, fearful that he had permanently disturbed one of her much needed moments of rest.

"Nothin', love," he mumbled into the top of her head, releasing the palpable tension in his body.

He felt Kate rustle slightly next to him, clearly still disrupted by his sudden waking, but Spot gently pulled her closer into his side, relishing in the satisfied sigh she released onto his chest. He liked the feel of her next to him, even in the small bed of Mary's sparsely furnished guest room. Her legs encased his own, her arms surrounding him, one under his back while the other draped over his chest, and her head nestled snugly in the crook of his shoulder. He felt a small smile come to his face, recognizing that she had slowly but surely taken siege of his body throughout the night without him noticing.

But, as her limbs further entwined with his and her breathing slowed again, Spot felt the delayed realization hit him that her barely conscious utterance had strangely included his name. The name that, if ever used by any of his boys in his presence, would ensure the soaking of a lifetime. The one label from his sordid past that only Mary could speak without incurring his unbridled wrath. A name that he had only heard Kate use once before.

But, when spoken from Kate's soft lips and in her sweet voice, his name seemed to separate itself from the twisted history that he had become so accustomed to associating with it. Her usage of it didn't jolt him the way it usually did when someone besides Mary dared to say it aloud. And as Spot let that revelation further sink in, a subtle, but familiar uneasiness grew in the pit of his stomach.

For this was not the first instance during Kate's stay that had seemingly forced him to move beyond his firmly set emotional boundaries. Her presence alone was enough to drive him to a very uncomfortable place within himself while also somehow creating a sense of much needed serenity. It was a confusing dichotomy of emotions, to say the least, but something he had experienced ten times over with her in the past. However, the all-consuming panic he had felt upon her initial stay in Brooklyn was an added layer that he had absolutely no familiarity with.

He saw so clearly now that distancing himself from her during that first month had been a terrible idea, but at the time, he had been wholly convinced that it was his only option. She had been so incredibly fragile at first, prompting such an unexpected instability in his own actions that space seemed to be the best answer. Not to mention that once news about Flit broke, his boys had been exceedingly clear about their less-than-pleased opinions on her living arrangements in Brooklyn. And this only further cemented the idea that the bigger the gap between he and Kate, the more ability he would have to protect her. But he had not fully appreciated the Brooklyn boys' distaste of Kate, not once considering the sullied image that her breakup with Jack Kelly had already laid the groundwork for. Thus, her erratic behavior had generated a far bigger fire than he could have ever expected, one that he was powerless to put out by himself. He knew her unpredictability and childish antics had been more of a cry for help than an actual testament to her insanity, but convincing his already embittered boys of this idea had proven to be a very difficult feat.

And the whispers about the damning word carved into her abdomen that had somehow circulated throughout the lodging house only added to this dislike. Spot still could kick himself for not seeing the obvious connection between Jack's past accusations and his boys' consequent disgust. It had never occurred to him that they had indeed believed Katherine Moore's allegedly loose reputation was what had finally led to Jack's disastrous fall from grace, weakening the Manhattan leader and his territory in one fell swoop. And he had never thought to assume that the Brooklyn boys would be fearful of her instigating a similar fate in their own terrain. Nevertheless, it had unfortunately taken a near mutiny against Spot for him to see all of these underlying impetuses with any kind of clarity.

He could still feel the absolute exhaustion that had run through his veins after he had caught sight of her in the doorway during the rowdy celebration between Manhattan and Brooklyn. Her eyes had exuded an intent to raise hell as she had glowered at Jack, and Spot had felt at a complete loss to curtail the impending chaos, if only because she had driven him to such a state of utter inertia with her behavior. Kate's fierce, and often unnecessary rebuttals against everything Spot had done up to that point to ensure her safety had become an almost daily war between them, one that he was well aware he was losing. He had wanted nothing more than to protect her, to give her the time she needed to heal, but every day presented him with an ever accruing mound of evidence that, if anything, she was getting far worse. He had felt a weariness begin to fill him as Rummy and Mary delivered the same reports day in and day out about Kate. And after one particularly difficult day when Rummy had been forced to drag Kate off of one of the boys and back to her room, he had exasperatedly grumbled to Mary that perhaps a madhouse would be a far better fit for the girl.

It had been during their weekly Sunday night dinner, a tradition that had been in place since Spot had first moved into the lodging house many years before, and Mary had eyed him for a moment as she had finished swallowing the bite of food in her mouth, stating calmly but firmly, "It sounds as though you've finally found something that she won't fight you on, Thomas."

He had scoffed at Mary, irritably asserting, "That couldn't possibly be what she really wants, Mary. She'd have to actually be as insane as she's acting for that to be true!"

And with that, Mary had placed her utensils on her plate, proceeding to cross her arms over her chest and stare sternly at Spot, saying matter-of-factly, "Well I'm glad to hear that you actually understand she's not mad, Thomas. That poor child needs time, and lots of it before she can even consider getting back to normal. Perhaps you ought to think about changing your tactics and your timetable."

Spot had felt an all too familiar irritation fill him at the lecturing tone Mary's voice had taken on, causing him to scathingly reply, "I've given her plenty of time, and all it seems to do is make things worse."

Mary had narrowed her eyes knowingly at Spot, releasing a small sigh and shaking her head before stating, "I don't pretend to think that I know even half of what goes on with you, your boys, and the women in your life, Thomas, and that suits me just fine. You're almost a grown man and frankly what you do and whom you do it with is none of my concern. But, seeing as you've employed my help with this particular situation, I can't and won't keep quiet when I see you bungling everything up. That's not to say I don't want to help, mind you. That girl deserves all the support and kindness I can give her, but I nay shall hold my tongue when I know that it's you, and not her, that's created the problem here."

Spot remembered feeling utterly flummoxed with Mary's keen perceptions, but also offended by her accusations. His pride prickled slightly as he had glared hard at Mary muttering, "And how exactly am I the one causing the problems? By rescuing her? By making sure she has a safe place to sleep and food to eat? By giving her anything she could possibly need to recover from whatever the hell happened, because God knows she ain't told me one word about it! She's the one running around and startin' shit any chance she gets, Mary!"

"Watch your tone. And, perhaps ask yourself an important question before you go on thinking you're an innocent bystander in all of this," Mary had prodded gently as she had picked up her fork and knife again, "Is this space you've insisted on giving her more for her benefit, or for yours, Thomas?"

Spot had not responded to Mary's laden query and, in fact, had remained silent for the rest of the meal, unwilling to admit that Mary had easily exposed the true crux of the issue between he and Kate. But looking back on the events now, it was clear to Spot that even if he had immediately acted on his somewhat enlightening conversation with Mary that evening, it still had come far too late to dissipate the storm that had been brewing in Brooklyn for some time. The wheels had already been set in motion, the cards indelibly laid on the table for the chaos that had followed after Kate had struck Jack in front of the crowded room of newsies.

At the time, Spot had not even considered that his own boys might have been reason enough to intercede with the scene playing out before him. He had assumed that, at most, a continued annoyance would persist amongst his ranks, but nothing like the explosion that had finally resulted. If anything, he had been much warier of Jack's potential response to seeing Kate for the first time in months, not entirely sure that the Manhattan leader truly was the reformed man he had claimed to be.

Yet, Jack, though certainly surprised to see Kate, had made no move to fight back, instead proceeding to move slowly away while also managing to shoot a glance in Spot's direction, deferring all control of the situation to the Brooklyn leader. But, only after Spot had brusquely ordered Kate to be taken to his bedroom with several guards in tow, did he finally become fully aware of the almost visceral revulsion radiating from his own boys in that packed area. And, consequently, that had been the very same moment that Spot had realized just how in over his head he actually was.

"So how many more of us are you gonna let that crazy whore whollop before you do somethin about it, Conlon? She clearly ain't got loyalty to Brooklyn with the way she gutted Flit and now Jack."

Dims, the Brooklynite who had ultimately put a voice to the undercurrent of dissatisfaction in the room, was one of the newer boys in Spot's ranks. Rummy had mentioned Dims' mutinous talk to Spot once or twice before, but the Brooklyn leader had paid him little mind, fully convinced that he posed no real threat. He was well-acquainted with Dims' dull-witted and uncharismatic personality, and ultimately Spot knew that the boy had very little backing from anyone else in New York. He was a known pickpocket and a dirty fighter, but otherwise utterly innocuous to Spot's rule in Brooklyn. Eventually, Spot had planned on dismissing him publicly, after a few good whacks with his cane of course, but he had become so involved with curtailing Kate's behavior, that dealing with Dims had been a low item on his list of priorities. However, the volatile atmosphere of that packed room, as well as the several "yeahs" Spot heard in response from the crowd, had suddenly made Dims take precedence over everything else. For, even though Spot had considered Dims' rise to power in Brooklyn a laughable occurrence before that moment, he had not been too prideful to see how clearly his own actions had set the stage for the unlikeable rat to now easily garner favor.

Spot remembered feeling his blood begin to boil as Dims had continued with his poorly-timed diatribe, stating, "Must be that she's one helluva lay. Bet we would all like her a lot more if we were fuckin' her too, am I right, boys?"

Spot had almost burst, the very mention of anyone even thinking of touching Kate in that way instinctively making him want to pummel them to within an inch of their life. But, suddenly, he had felt a firm hand on his arm, realizing with a start that Rummy had come to stand next to him in the midst of all the commotion.

And, as always, Rummy's excellently timed humor had somewhat tempered the volatile situation, as he had chimed in wryly, "Jesus, Dims. Maybe you'd get a good lay every once in a while if you'd stop actin', and smellin' like the ass ya are."

Spot had felt the control over his emotions quickly rush back to him as he had heard the various chuckles sound throughout the room. Rummy's statement had thankfully given him just enough time to fully grasp the situation again without losing his temper. But all too quickly Dims had shouted over the hum of laughter with a rallying cry: "I say we run 'er outta Brooklyn on a rail 'fore she nicks another one of us! We ain't about to let Brooklyn fall 'cause 'a some whore Conlon's taken a fancy to! Whose with me?"

Spot had felt his heart jump into his chest as he had caught sight of several more of his boys start to crowd around Dims with their fists in the air and a gleam of drunken violence in their eyes.

"Let's go show that bitch what we do to traitors in Brooklyn, boys!" Dims had continued as he made a move to turn toward the hallway leading to the stairwell, with quite a few more of Spot's boys in tow.

But, in an instant, Spot and Rummy had positioned themselves between the group of boys and the doorway to the stairs, Spot's gold-tipped cane pushing harshly into Dims' abdomen, his knuckles clenching white with his utter fury.

"You ain't gonna do no such thing, you fuckin' rat," Spot growled. "You touch one hair on her head and I'll kill you."

"Yeah, Conlon?" Dims had said with a knowing smirk. "You and what fuckin' army? Looks like the boys is behind me now."

But before he could say another word and Dims could make another move, Spot had been shocked to hear a familiar voice quip, "I'll personally see to it that whoever dares take one more step toward that girl'll get run all the way out of the state. Manhattan stands behind Spot Conlon and Katherine Moore, an' if anyone dares to cross either of em they'll have to fuckin answer to me and mine."

Spot had kept his glare on Dims' face as he had noted Jack coming to stand next to him out of his periphery.

"You'd let a fuckin' bitch take swings atcha and get away with it, Kelly? No wonder Manhattan's gone under. Weak buncha fairies, the lot a ya, lettin' that cunt-"

But before Dims could finish his horrid sentiment Spot could take no more, and had reared his cane up and then across the head of the foul-mouthed boy with one deft swing. As Dims' body had thudded heavily against the wooden floor, Spot had spit on the boy, then had looked up to the now silent room saying loudly, "Anybody else got somethin to add?"

The silence and immediate retreat of the rest of the boys from the door had caused a small smirk to form on Spot's mouth, and he had murmured, "Good. Now get this fuckin' rat outa my territory before I throttle the lot of ya'." And with a swift kick to Dims' motionless body, Spot had brusquely walked out the room, hearing the comforting hum of Rummy's subsequent orders to the rest of the boys.

"Conlon."

Spot had paused and slowly turned in the empty, darkening hallway to face Jack Kelly's alarmed face. He remembered bracing himself for a multitude of questions and concerns regarding Kate and the charged scene they both had exited moments before, but Jack had merely sighed, rubbing his hands over his face in fatigue as he whispered, "I ain't ever seen her like that before, Spot. Please, just…take care of her."

Thus, with that one simple statement, Jack had filled Spot with a terror that made any other fear in his life look utterly ridiculous in comparison. And after he had finally confronted Kate that evening, the dread had only grown within him.

He had shared a bed with her every night for nearly two weeks, and not once had he taken her as his own. Even more befuddling was that he had experienced none of the usual frustrations that typically came from waiting. He had never been in bed with a woman and not engaged in some type of sexual action throughout the night. But when he and Kate had accidentally fallen asleep in his room after their emotional conversation, he had craved the experience again. So, every night after he heard Mary retire to her room for the evening, he would proceed to Kate through the window that she began leaving ajar for him. They didn't speak about it or make plans for it to continue. It had just been a naturally evolving ritual that they both easily took part in. Kate, who had not slept through the night in weeks, began sleeping easily once nicely settled in Spot's welcoming arms. And Spot reveled in the utter wholeness he experienced when around her.

But strangely, his serenity always gave way to anxiety. Because, deep down, it terrified him that it felt so right lying close to her at night. That, even after all of her disturbing behavior, he had still been effortlessly pulled to her. Truly, though, the real disquiet would always set in when Spot found himself waking in the middle of the night to Jack Kelly's voice, because what really shook Spot Conlon to his very core was that someone else had recognized it too.

As Spot found himself tightening his grip on Kate's warm body next to him, he realized that she was worth more than anything else had ever been to him. And that was the most terrifying thing he had ever experienced in his life.


	16. Chapter 16

Shout out to hch428! I could NOT have gotten this chapter to work without you! You are amazing! To all my other readers...hope you enjoy...:-)

Chapter 16

Spot felt as if he might be sick.

Staring at Kate from across Mary's worn dining table as she contentedly chatted with the animated old woman made a strange heaviness fill Spot's chest and abdomen. Her face shone mesmerizingly in the candlelight and her eyes sparkled with a vivacity that he hadn't seen in weeks. But still, he felt his senses overwhelmed with an unusual emotion, one that he was having an immensely difficult time identifying and quelling.

He had wanted Kate to join them for morning mass earlier in the day, and he had encouraged Mary to extend the invitation for her to attend their Sunday night dinner as well. But, sitting here now, after a pleasant and relaxing day with Kate and Mary, Spot couldn't help but notice the intense anxiety that suddenly began surging through him. It made him want to vomit, or scream, maybe even punch something and he hadn't the first clue as to where it was coming from and why it was so inescapable at the moment.

He saw Mary's eyes flash in his direction momentarily before turning back towards Kate and saying, "It appears we've lost someone, my dear. Are we boring you, Thomas?"

Spot scowled irritably at Mary, but as Kate's eyes worriedly met his, he softened his expression, murmuring, "I'm just tired. Those extra shifts at the dock this week were brutal."

Mary gave him a warm, somewhat mischievous smile in response, turning back to Kate to say, "Thomas has always insisted on bringing in extra money to the lodging house for boys that can't make the nightly deposit. Since he was a wee one he's felt the need to fund those less fortunate than him."

Spot sighed and pushed his chair back from the table, growling, "Mary, why don't I get started on those dishes before you bring up more boring nonsense about me."

He shot Mary a warning glare as he began gathering up the plates and utensils from the table, but Mary simply waved her hand, disregarding his scorn.

"Spot, I'll take care of the dishes."

Kate's whisper and gentle touch to his back sent a further wave of sickness through him. As he turned slowly to look down at the beautiful girl dressed in Mary's hand-me-down skirt and shirt, he was appalled at his urge to get as far away from her as possible. Yet, strangely enough, as Kate reached up and took the dishes from him, swiftly moving towards the kitchen without another word, he knew that she too could sense his need to flee.

And, after he had quickly excused himself from the apartment, closing the door to the sound of Kate pumping water, he felt his stomach unclench slightly and the breath more fully fill his lungs. Making his way up the stairs of the lodging house, he nodded curtly to several of his boys, and then, once he had made his way out onto the roof he let out a massive sigh of relief. The night was frigid and the wind blew harshly against his thin shirt, but he took little notice, leaning against the ledge and quickly rolling and lighting a cigarette. Once he had taken a much-needed inhale of the smoke, forcefully blowing it to the sky above, he felt his mind finally begin to clear somewhat.

And after several more moments passed, with a few more hefty drags from his cigarette, Spot was much more able to clearly sort through the possible causes of his uncomfortable panic in Mary's apartment. He let his mind wander back to the events of the day, squinting his eyes up at the sparse scattering of stars in the sky as he considered his calm afternoon and evening. But, thinking back to earlier that morning, before the sun had even risen, he suddenly realized the exact instance that had led to the uncomfortable simmering beneath his skin for the majority of the day.

When Spot had roused himself shortly before dawn that morning to make his way back to the lodging house, he had dressed as quietly as possible so as not to disturb Kate's peaceful slumber. She had been lying so serenely on her side, her hair falling out in gentle curls from the messy braid she had plated the night before and her chest rising and falling with a steady, dependable rhythm. But he had not been able to help himself from planting a gentle kiss on her pale cheek before leaving. Her eyelids had fluttered sleepily as she had rolled her head towards him.

"I'm off," Spot had whispered gently, his hand lightly grazing her forehead and tucking a lock of dark hair behind her ear.

"It's so early," she had murmured, her green eyes squinting up at him in confusion.

"I gotta go change to meet you and Mary for church, love," Spot had said, finding he could not stop himself from touching her again, softly tracing her jawline with his finger as she lifted her head off of the pillow.

She had seemed to accept this explanation, laying back down slowly and pulling the covers to her chin as he had placed his cap decisively on his head, shooting her a mischievous smile, "Besides, you know Mary'd skin me alive if she ever caught me in here with you."

Kate had shrugged, shaking her head as she had whispered matter-of-factly, "It's not like she doesn't know how you are, Spot."

He remembered pausing for a moment, somewhat surprised by Kate's incisive comment. Though he had been fairly certain it had not been spoken with any inkling of disdain or spite, her words had still born into him a little more than he would have liked. He had turned back towards Kate once more, feeling a sudden urge to address it with her, but she had already closed her eyes again and was peacefully lulling herself back to sleep.

As he thought on it now, however, he was much more in tune to the true reason her irksome comment had continued to sit poorly with him throughout their day together. Kate had, of course, been referencing his known reputation as a habitual womanizer, an incontestable fact if anything. He had been with many women over the years and never had he felt the need to settle. Even his relationship with Julia had not been one of exclusivity. He had always made her aware that, although in some ways he favored her, she was never his "one and only". And, to be fair, he had extended this same disclaimer to all the women he had been with, making sure he was extremely clear that he was not looking for something long-term or binding.

But, it wasn't so much _what_ Kate had said that bothered him. It was her dismissive assumption that his presence in her bed for the last several weeks, as thoroughly chaste as it had been, was just as cavalier as all of his other encounters with women had been.

And, although he knew innately this couldn't be further from the truth, the problems appeared when he realized that while his feelings for Kate sharply deviated from the mild indifference he usually experienced during his romantic endeavors, he had absolutely no frame of reference to be able to define the true nature of these sentiments. All he knew was that she was wrong.

And, as he shivered slightly against a sudden gust of cold wind, it dawned on him just how deeply these strange feelings for Kate had already settled within him, as well as the all-consuming apprehension that seemed to so naturally follow. It was irritating to think that he was incapable of not only defining these unusual emotions, but of also taking any action to make them stop. What was it about Katherine Moore that made him question his every move? His very sanity? She seemed to immobilize his ability to run his own life in the efficient and logical way that came so naturally to him. And that alone was more infuriating than he knew how to handle.

Was it that he and Kate had never moved beyond the few passionate kisses they had shared? Would finally bedding Katherine Moore be the key to unlocking his calm sense of purpose again? But, most importantly, was that something that Kate was still even remotely interested in?

He hated the feeling of insecurity that began to mercilessly fill him as he paced back and forth on the roof. And after what seemed like hours, with his limbs and face sufficiently numb, he decided that now was as good a time as any to finally take some definitive action on the large question mark that Katherine Moore had always embodied in his life.

As he began quietly climbing down the fire escape to Kate's bedroom, he felt himself pause in hesitation, catching a glimpse of her through the slightly ajar window a few yards in front of him. Her back was to him, the room aglow with the flicker of the kerosene lamp, and she stood by the bed brushing through her long, dark hair. The worn white nightgown Mary had lent her was slightly big on her, but he could still make out the soft curves of her frame amidst the fabric.

He quickly shook himself from his awed reverie as she slowly moved out of his line of sight, cursing silently for again allowing her to overwhelm him. He walked the remaining distance to the window, hoisting himself gingerly inside and then shutting it decisively behind him. Kate's eyes flickered toward him, her hands deftly tying off the braid she had just finished working her hair into. She squinted at him for a moment, seeming to read into his silent stiffness, then without a word, walked toward him and gently wrapped her warm arms around his waist, laying her head against his chest. [CP1] He reveled slightly in the thawing effect that her body had on his cold limbs as he folded his arms about her, resting his chin atop her hair. They stood in each other's arms for several moments, and Spot could feel the anxiety begin to seep out of his pores. But, when Kate pulled back slightly and looked up at him with her wide, emotive eyes and parted lips, he felt all of the emotions from the past several weeks surge throughout him again, muddling his thoughts until all he could think to do was lay his mouth on hers.

He felt her surprised inhale as his lips forcefully met hers, his tongue easily persuading its way into her warm mouth. His arms instinctively wrapped tightly about her body, anticipating its subsequent weakness, and when he felt her hands begin to gently tug at his shirt buttons he pushed forward even more aggressively. He hoisted her up by her bottom and then roughly fell atop her on the bed, kicking his shoes off as he broke their kiss to push his hands under her nightgown while trailing his mouth down her neck and collarbone as she moaned softly. In that moment, all he wanted was to feel every inch of her body with his.

"Wait."

He barely heard Kate's gasp as he gently pushed her legs apart with his knee and ran his hands up the soft skin of her abdomen, momentarily pausing on one of the raised scar lines near her hip.

" _Wait_."

Her panicked voice snapped him out of the moment completely, and as he picked his head up to meet her gaze, he felt his stomach clench at the look of fear embedded in her face and eyes. He felt himself frozen over her, his shirt half unbuttoned and his suspenders hanging at his sides as he tried to grapple with the heady lust that still had a hold of his mind and body.

"Spot…" she trailed off, her eyes constricting with an unclear conflict and her breaths coming in short gasps.

"Isn't this what you want with me?" he asked incredulously, still trying to recover from the all-consuming desire he still felt surging within him.

She turned her head away from his gaze while he continued to hover over her, frozen in the strange hiatus of their passionate moment. He sighed irritably, still feeling the want of her body, her lips, but above all, the release of finally being with her.

"Well, isn't it, Kate?" he demanded impatiently.

"Dammit, Spot," she hissed, her eyes ablaze as they bore into his momentarily and then abruptly severed the connection. She pushed his body off of her harshly and then rolled to a standing position with her back to him.

He fell back onto his bottom, rubbing his face aggressively with his hands and glaring at her shaking form. He felt a small amount of anger began to build inside of him, and, strangely, it had little to do with the frustrating and unexpected halt to their passionate moment, though that certainly didn't help. It more so had to do with Kate's complete and sudden emotional detachment from him. She had rejected him sexually, but more importantly, she had discarded his entire presence in a matter of seconds.

He felt himself reeling with a mixture of hurt and anger as she remained turned away from him, her arms wrapped tightly around her body, her knuckles white with the force of her own grip.

"So, I take it you don't want that," Spot said sharply, unable to hide the bitterness that coated his words.

"That's not it," she whispered, still facing away from him, her body shuddering violently.

He felt a small amount of insecurity fill him, a terror that played to the darkest fears in his soul, one that was always on the brink of overflowing with any emotional setback he experienced. The whispers of his worthlessness, his baseness threatened to overcome him with the all-consuming dread that, at the crux of it all, he was truly unfit and contemptible. Usually these moments would pass through in the darkest hours of the night, when he lay awake, sleepless and lonely, taunted with the notion that his darker moments were his only true form. But, now, sitting in the fall out of Kate's emotional shut down, the fears mixed within him, combining with the sudden solitude that had been forced upon him and left him feeling raw and chaotic.

She turned back towards him, hurt radiating through her gaze and tears shining in her eyes as she whispered, "I'm always on the brink of imagining that you are a different person, that I'm different, that this is a changed scenario between us. But nothing has changed since I asked you to leave Julia and be with me all those weeks ago. You didn't want me then, and you certainly have more reason not to want me now. You've always been the same for as long as we've known one another. You've never been serious about the women you are with and you definitely haven't been exclusive. So you need to understand that it's senseless for me to think that I would be different. I can't fall into the trap of thinking that I could possibly be the exception to the rule with you."

He saw several tears drip down her cheeks as he scoffed, her words further propelling the explosive mixture of anger and hurt swirling thickly within him.

"Then, what is it we're doing here, Kate?"

She sighed, sniffling slightly, her green eyes flashing towards him in pain as she spat, "What about anything I've just said could you possibly need further clarification on, Spot?"

He glared at her harshly, saying, "So, I take it you're done with me now, Kate? Done with this?"

She backed away from the severity in his voice, a steeliness masking her own features as she snapped, "What's the issue with that? What else needs to be said or done between us, Spot? Is it because you haven't had me yet? Is that what this is about? You want to fuck me? I suppose you think I owe you some type of payment for all your trouble. Fine, then, let's get it over with already."

All he could see was red from the pulsing rage that filled him after her jarring assertion. He strode over to her quickly, backing her against the far wall of the room, growling, "If you wanna pay me back, why don't you quit insulting me. Where the fuck do you get off, makin out like I'm some soulless prick who'll force women into bed with me, even after you've known me all this time?"

Her usually bright green eyes darkened almost to black as she set her face in a glare, whispering, "Because all men are soulless pricks who take what they want from women and then discard them when they're finished. What could possibly make you any different?"

The cruelty in her tone made him smack his fist into the wall beside her head in utter frustration. She jumped slightly, but still maintained her defiant stance, glaring at him as he pushed his face within inches of hers and murmured, "Sweetheart, I've never had to take anything from a woman that she didn't readily offer up all on her own. The girls I've been with wanted me, pursued me and gave themselves to me. I don't have to force myself on anyone to get fucked regularly, Kate. I don't know who else you hang around that seems to do things that way, but it aint me."

However, even in the midst of his all-consuming ire, Spot paused momentarily as he noticed Kate's eyes glaze over and her face pale considerably in the wake of his final remark. And then, Spot felt his anger and hurt slowly begin to dissipate as the realization of what Kate had actually been referring to hit him like a bucket of cold water to his face. He softened his body, instinctively cupping her quivering face in his hands as he whispered, "You remember something, don't you?"

Her eyes dipped away from his, several more tears travelling slowly down her cheeks, but she remained silent, pursing her lips together until they formed a thin white line.

He lifted her face to his, adjusting his eyes and head until he met her gaze again, murmuring, "What happened while you were gone, Kate?"

She pulled away from his touch, shuddering violently again which made Spot's stomach sink. He backed away from her slightly, raising his hands in a mild surrender, but her body remained frozen against the wall, her eyes averted from his.

"Kate," he prompted again, but she simply shook her head, cringing.

"Why can't you just tell me? I'm here for you, I'm not going anywhere-"

Her scoff in response had been surprisingly harsh, stopping his sentiment in its tracks.

"I suppose that's easy to claim when you don't know what exactly you're sticking around for."

Her eyes stared fixedly at him, a callousness in her features and a challenge in her stance. He planted his feet firmly, easily matching her defiance as he slowly stated, "Why don't you try me? I can't be here for you if you keep pushing me away, so tell me. I want to hear about it."

"Oh really?" she sneered aggressively, crossing her arms over her chest and taking a step toward him. "So you want to hear about the men that covered my mouth with a strange smelling cloth when I was trying to get away from Jack that morning?" His eyes widened as she took another step forward, more tears dripping down her face as she shakily whispered, "How when I woke up the first time, in some cold warehouse, I had been stripped of everything but my chemise and when I tried to run, one of the three men there, men I had never before seen in my life, took a lead pipe to my head and back until I couldn't see anymore?"

"Kate," Spot said worriedly, but she shook him off, pushing forward with a callous murmur, "But I haven't even gotten to the good part yet, Spot. What's wrong? Are you feeling squeamish already? Feeling like maybe you can't take anymore?"

She stood before him, her small frame shaking and tears streaming out of her angry eyes. He felt completely unable to move or speak, all of his efforts focused purely on digesting the horror story she had just divulged.

But he saw her jaw set harshly, her eyes still challenging him as she said, "Because we can't forget about the well-dressed man in the tenement house that visited me every night and forced some kind of drink down my throat so I was good and foggy. That's when he would have his way with me, amongst other things."

Spot felt nauseated as she lifted her nightgown up and pulled her bloomers down slightly to expose the horrible scarring on her lower abdomen.

"Don't look so shocked, Spot, you've seen these scars before," Kate hissed, her lips quivering.

He stared ahead emptily, feeling useless in his inability to find the right words, or any words, to relay comfort and hope to the broken girl trembling before him. Her eyes pleaded with him in their anger, to save her, to redeem her from the hell she was so clearly falling into, but he felt utterly powerless to even attempt such a huge feat. For, what could he say or do that would even come close to making the horrors she had lived better?

The silence passed between them painfully, each ticking moment a further reminder that Spot was failing her, was making her pain far worse than it needed to be. He saw her wipe her eyes and face with the sleeves of her nightgown as he stared on, immobilized by his own fear and insecurities. Her voice, however, brought the weight of the situation crashing harshly down upon him as she coldly whispered, "It's amazing to me, the loud volumes your silence always manages to speak, Spot."

His eyes snapped to hers apologetically, attempting to melt the iciness in her gaze, but she shook him off, turning away as she stoically continued, "But it's a good reminder for me that, really, I shouldn't have expected anything different from you."

"Kate," Spot attempted softly, but she flashed her eyes dangerously towards his as she whispered, "It's clear to me now that I've overstayed my welcome here. I need to go."

He found himself walking toward her in panic, placing his hands on her shoulders as a means of comfort, but she swiftly pulled herself away from his touch spitting, "Leave me alone!"

"Kate, please," Spot said, walking towards her again, gently pulling her arm so she spun slowly to face him. But her face was fixated in a fierce glare as she yanked her arm away from him and backed further out of his grasp.

"Get out. All you're doing is making things far worse than they already are!" she snarled at him. "It's all you've ever done!"

The amount of fury that filled his own body at her final phrase pushed him to a point that he had rarely been to with anyone. He felt his face deadpan slowly as he easily met her gaze, and with a dangerously quiet apathy he responded, "Fine. Do what you want, Kate. I won't stop you anymore."

He almost thought he saw her eyes constrict in pain, but all too quickly she turned away from him, whispering, "I'll be gone in the morning."

And without another word, he stormed out of her bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He cared little of who he woke in the process, purposefully making his way to the door of the apartment.

"Thomas, I'm disappointed in you."

Spot nearly jumped out of his skin as Mary's calm voice met his ears. He spun around irritably, scowling at the old woman sitting at the dining table in her dressing robe as he exclaimed, "Why, Mary? She's right, and you know it. I'll just end up damaging her more than whoever the fuck had her before me already did. Everything I touch eventually turns to shit, and it won't be any different with her, so she should get the fuck out before I have a chance to ruin her too."

Mary sighed, shaking her head at Spot slowy. "Enough of this self-pity, Thomas. Don't you see this was your chance? This was the one moment you should have been there for her! It's almost cruel the way you've coaxed this out of her, only to abandon her to wallow in it alone. I'll never understand why you've always been so keen on convincing everyone around you that you're some monster with a penchant for hurting all things in your path. It's never been the case, Thomas, and we all see that so clearly, especially Katherine. Which is why she has every right to be furious with you right now. What in the hell is the matter with you, boy?"

Spot clenched his jaw at Mary's words, the rage flowing from his mouth as he cursed, "Dammit, Mary! It's out of my hands! I'm not the one to help her through this, and she's made it very clear that she wants nothing to do with me. She's the smart one here and I'm not gonna stand in the way of what she wants to do."

Mary narrowed her eyes at Spot as she stood slowly and walked towards him, saying, "Shame on you, Thomas Conlon. That's a coward's response. When you say things like that, I start to get worried that you aren't the man I know you to be."

"No, Mary, I'm exactly the man I was always destined to be. So, for God's sake, stop trying to save me from what's gonna happen anyway. It's Conlon blood running through my veins and not yours, so why don't you just accept that it's already been decided. It was decided when I pulled the trigger on my pa all those years ago, so it's always been too late, Mary!"

Spot felt himself gasping from the anger flowing through him, barely able to see in front of himself, but he heard Mary's strong voice clearly as she responded, "It's a choice, Thomas. You aren't destined to be good or bad based on one decision you made as a child and who your father happened to be. It's about all of the little choices you make every single day. You have the ability to choose differently for yourself, son."

Spot, still reeling from his chaotic emotions, glared into Mary's eyes as he stated, "I'm not your son, Mary. I never was and I never will be, so quit trying to claim it."

She physically buckled from his cruel statement, but before she could respond, he walked out of the apartment, slamming the door definitively behind him.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

A silent misery settled in the wake of Spot Conlon's decisive door slam, like a thick, sticky film that no amount of scrubbing would ever be able to remove. And, as the minutes began to pass by, I stood there completely immobilized by the overwhelming emotional exchange that had just taken place between us, barely registering the raised voices outside of my door or Spot's subsequent enraged exit from the lodging house that I had hazily watched through my window afterwards. Yet, in the hours following his absence, I found my body begin to thaw slightly for I could not stop an all too familiar fear from permeating steadily and harshly throughout it, a whisper that I had made an immense, and most likely, irreparable mistake by pushing him away. That I, fueled by my own pride and uncertainties, had needlessly damaged our relationship and any potential future we might have had together. But, truly, once the cruel sentiments had started to spill forth from me, it had been utterly impossible to stop myself from hurling them in his direction.

Spot Conlon had always been a terrifying enigma, but the few things I did know to be true in regards to his reputation had swiftly come crashing down upon me the very moment I had considered sleeping with him. And as I had aggressively stopped the disastrous scene from continuing, I had realized how careless I had been throughout my time in Brooklyn, but especially in the last three weeks of my stay. His arms around my body at night, as well as his even breathing and intoxicating smell had progressed into essential requisites for my peaceful slumber. I found myself unable to contain my awe at his bright eyes and the mesmerizing way his hair glinted gold in the sunlight. But most concerning of all, was the easy way my thoughts quickly extrapolated our future together, like some preposterous fairy tale, with me charading awkwardly around as a mutated princess, while Spot Conlon entered the scene as the misfit, albeit handsome, prince. And, I had allowed this break from reality to persist, even in the face of Spot Conlon's casual history with women, finding myself craving his presence and reveling in his company. But, deep down, I knew as well as any other girl in my situation, that Spot Conlon was a fire I had no skill at containing, therefore only ensuring that I was in constant danger of being burned.

And, really, all of these symptoms culminated into one main theme- I had grown to need Spot Conlon more than I had ever needed anyone before. It had progressed far beyond my original ill-fated interest in him, and I had almost allowed myself to fall into this trap of my own making. For, the only truly dependable trait he had ever been able to ensure for any woman in his life was that he was anything but monogamously devoted. I had again mistaken his kindness and his loyalty as some type of romantic fidelity to me when he had made no such indications himself. And after pushing and throwing everything I had at him several hours prior, I had finally reminded myself of the true nature of our relationship. So as I began to manically pace to and fro in the space that had come to feel like mine, with bitter tears pouring from my swollen eyes, and a madness permeating throughout my movements, I could not bring myself to blame him. I was crumbling into unmanageably small, irreversible pieces, but truly, I alone was culpable.

I thought on to the next day that was quickly approaching, hopeful that I could bring my deliberations away from Spot Conlon, but all I found was more bleakness. Returning to my parents' home had never been an option for a multitude of concerning reasons, especially now that the full memory of my absence had finally resurfaced, but I could think of nowhere else to find refuge. I felt another wave of tearful fear wash over me as I realized the far-reaching consequences my quarrel with Spot would set into motion, but also, I found a small sense of purpose fill me, pushing me to find a solution without his help. Because, truly, this had always been my fate in Brooklyn, so a contingency plan was a necessity regardless of tonight's disaster.

But, in the midst of my frantic planning, I suddenly found myself tripping clumsily over a blanket that had spilled onto the floor, most likely in the midst of my fight with Spot, and I fell hard onto my left shin, feeling a sharp pain searing from an old scar just below my knee. I gingerly settled onto my bottom, cringing at the bruise that would surely breakthrough in the morning, and rubbed the red mark gently into a less painful ache. But, more tears filled my eyes as the origin of the scar on my leg rushed back through me, an unwanted memory from long ago resurfacing with surprising force.

I grimaced as the scene in the Manhattan lodging house erupted so clearly again in my mind, another painful episode in my past that brought up faces I had no further interest in seeing. It had been a night in the earlier days of my relationship with Jack Kelly, and, consequently, one of the first times that I had found myself badly shaken by Jack's behavior. The party that night had been filled with gaiety, a poker game of sorts happening in one of the side rooms, while the main living space was filled to the brim with a large swarm of ragged boys and seemingly enthusiastic girls. But having been quickly abandoned by Jack's boisterous need to mingle, I had found myself feeling utterly out of place and alone. Thus, I sought comfort in maintaining a quiet watchfulness on the outskirts of all the fun, unable to spot Jack in the crowd and not interested enough to venture forward and look for him.

The whole of Brooklyn had been in attendance as well, but with the knowledge that Spot Conlon was somewhere within the gaiety ahead, I had been that much less willing to thrust myself amongst the others. I remembered feeling foolish after the strange instance that had led Spot and I to hide in a stranger's storage shed several weeks prior. And, although he had been nothing but supportive in the wake of that stressful happening, comforting me and solidly accompanying me back to the safety of my worried family, the event had left me feeling raw and exposed, unsure of my footing with the Brooklynite king. But, what had been of a more pressing concern to me was the sinking feeling my stomach had harshly experienced upon witnessing him with his arm lustfully around one of the other girls at the party that night an hour before.

I remembered feeling relief wash over me as Jack had again found his way to me, roughly wrapping his strong arm around my shoulders while pulling me through the crowd and into a seat next to him at the makeshift poker table in the far room. After having received several enthusiastic hellos from Kid Blink and Racetrack, I had felt my stomach clench in overwhelming anxiety as my eyes had met a familiar pair of sparkling blue ones. And there Spot Conlon had sat, smirking enigmatically at me from across the table, while loosening his grip somewhat on the beautiful auburn haired girl that sat daintily upon his lap. I had immediately severed our gaze, attempting to maintain some type of hold on myself in front of everyone, but as the boys played through several seemingly unending hands of poker, I had found myself starting to unravel, my eyes somehow continuing to lock with Spot's every time I dared to lift my head.

Desperately, I had grabbed Jack's arm, leaning into him and whispering, "Can we go somewhere quieter?" I remembered the confusion that filled me at the coy smile that spread across his face as he curtly bowed out of the impending game, wrapping an arm around my waist and leading me again through the throng of partygoers to the other side of the lodging house. His eyes had appeared distant and distracted as he had settled us within a corner of a dark hallway, pulling me closer to him.

"You having fun?" he had asked in my ear, but as I had opened my mouth to respond, I had felt his lips graze my neck lustfully, making my mind muddle further in panic and a shudder involuntarily wrack my body. Unfortunately, Jack had taken my quivering as some type of affirmation to his querying lips.

"Good," he had murmured into my neck, continuing to slide his mouth down my collarbone and dropping his hands to grip my hips. I had felt my face redden at his obvious implication, but before I could halt his wandering hands and mouth from pursuing my body further, he had pulled me roughly into the spare room that the proprietor, Kloppman, typically kept open in preparation for any of the boys' injuries or illnesses.

Jack had kept one hand on my waist while decisively shutting the door behind us, but before I could alert him to his mistaken assumptions about what I had meant, his mouth had aggressively pushed onto mine.

I remember feeling my back slam against the nearest wall as I fought to catch my breath. His kiss had felt invasive, and the alcohol I had tasted on his tongue had made me pull back slightly as fear pooled within my body. But, Jack had again seemed to misinterpret my hesitation to his affection, having easily moved my body toward the bare mattress on the floor of the room. And in a moment of surging alarm, I had used all of my strength to disentangle myself from his strong grip, yelling "Stop!" disconcertedly. He had immediately released me, and I had taken a much needed breath, letting my mind sort itself into a more stable awareness, while I nervously straightened my mussed clothes.

As I had met his gaze after several moments, however, it had held anything but understanding. A harshness had replaced his leering look, and I had struggled to find any explanation as to why I had felt utterly averted to his touch.

"What's the matter, Katie? Is Spot Conlon the only one you want to touch you like that?" Jack had spat callously at me. I remember slowly backing away from him, my mind desperately attempting to interpret his comment.

"Jack, what are you talking about?" I had said cautiously, concern consuming my face as he had shaken his head in disgust.

"You know damn-well what I'm saying," he had huffed aggressively, hurt passing through his gaze while I had again taken a preemptive step backwards, unable to read where our somewhat heated conversation was leading.

"Jack, Spot's never touched me like that—I mean, I've never thought of him in that way—I don't know what you mean," I had idiotically sputtered in response to him, not able to find any words to properly explain what had just transpired between us.

"Dammit, Katie, I warned you about this. I told you to stay away from him," he had said closing his eyes in irritation and shaking his head.

And, even as I had witnessed his face darken to deeper shades of red, I had pushed forward incredulously, saying, "Jack, I haven't done anything wrong."

"You're such a fuckin' liar!" he had yelled, as his eyes had popped open angrily. And, all I had been able to do was stand there, horrified, while I saw his fist swing toward my face, an immediate pain spreading throughout my jaw.

Tears had instantly filled my eyes as I had brought both of my hands to cover my throbbing face, momentarily catching the look of regret in Jack's dark gaze. But, before he could say another word, I had turned from him and fled out of the small room, pushing past a multitude of people as I made my way out of the front door. I had been clueless as to where I was going, only knowing that it had to be as far away from Jack Kelly as possible.

However, I had felt my body immediately lose momentum as my feet had caught clumsily on my way down the entrance stairs to the lodging house. I had tumbled haphazardly forward, gasping as a searing pain had pierced through my leg, an old nail catching the soft skin beneath my knee and harshly ripping through the flesh. I had attempted to recover after several agonizing moments on the ground, pulling myself into the darkness on the other side of the staircase, but had quickly felt the unbearable pain surge throughout my leg as well as the wetness that began pooling inside my ripped stocking.

I had wanted to scream from frustration, but I had quickly stifled the urge, knowing that it was not a solution to the more pressing issue of the blood pouring out of my shin at a rapidly increasing rate. I had fought back tears as I had heard several heavy footsteps of people walking down the stairs, scooting myself further into the darkness. Once the group had passed well beyond my hiding spot, I had attempted to pull myself up into a standing position, knowing I could not sit on the side of the lodging house for the entire night, but I had roughly fallen back into the ground, a wave of intense pain again surging through my leg.

"Dammit!" I had hissed to the darkness around me in utter surrender. How was I ever going to make it back to my home, when I couldn't even stand by myself? I had gritted my teeth against the pain as I heard more footsteps approaching, hoping that I would again be passed over, unnoticed.

"Lost somethin' down there, doll?"

I had almost shrieked as the familiar voice had broken through my depressed thoughts, but I had quickly steadied myself and shaken my head in utter humiliation as I had seen Spot Conlon peering over the railing at me, his signature smirk on his face.

"I…" I had trailed off as I had felt a sob wrack my body, unable to hold back my tears any longer. I remember his bright blue eyes flashing at me in concern, his smirk instantly vanishing as I had bowed my head in defeat. I had heard his swift footsteps clatter down the remaining stairs and felt his body's warmth as he had come to kneel in front of me.

"Jesus, Kate…" Spot had whispered, gently inspecting my blood covered leg and then peering up into my tearful gaze. But his worry had suddenly morphed into a rigidness as his beautiful eyes had slowly traveled down my face, flashing dangerously in what I had thought was anger.

"What's this, then?" he had evenly said, pushing some hair out of my face to reveal my rapidly swelling jaw. I had remained silent, knowing definitively that he was not looking for a response to his query. From the rage surging stormily through his blue eyes, he had clearly already deduced what had happened.

We sat there in silence for several moments as I let tears slowly drip down my face and he began clenching and unclenching his fists with his eyes closed and his jaw set harshly.

"That looks like it'll need some stitches," Spot had finally muttered, his gaze snapping toward my bloody knee again. And without another word, I had felt my body being hoisted up gently in his arms.

"Wait, what are you doing?" I had asked, alarmed by his sudden, purposeful movements.

"First, I'm gonna get you situated in the basement here," he had grunted, motioning his head in the direction of the far side of the lodging house. "Then I'm gonna sort out that nasty lookin' gash ya got on your leg there. And if the night's still young enough, I'm gonna beat the living shit outa whoever the fuck thought it was okay to give you that shiner on your chin, doll."

I had stared at him incredulously, a further panic rising into my chest as I had stuttered, "Spot, wait! I need to go home, I can't go back in there!"

I remember his face slowly breaking into a good-natured smirk as he had steadily made his way in the direction of the basement entrance, asking, "And how were you planning on makin' it home with your leg all mangled up like that, Kate?"

I had sighed, my cheeks burning in embarrassment at the truth in his statement. But, before I could secure a more solid plan from him, he had maneuvered us through the entrance of the basement and had carefully placed me against a wall in the damp darkness. As he had released my body onto the ground, I had felt an immense fear wash throughout me, utterly disgusted with the multitude of decisions that had led me to the mess I had found myself in. My jaw and leg were throbbing with a pain I had never experienced before while I silently berated myself, ashamed and confused by all that had transpired.

But, I had been abruptly brought back to the uncomfortable situation with Spot, as I had heard a loud scratching sound. A low glow had permeated throughout the room from a small lamp that had been lit in the opposite corner. It lighted the space we were in dimly, but enough for me to be able to make out Spot's form moving toward the door we had just entered through.

He must have sensed my panic, for he had turned his head back toward me, saying calmly, "Give me a second, Kate. I gotta go get some stuff so I can stitch up your leg."

"Wait, you're going to do it?" I had blurted out incredulously.

His corresponding laugh had echoed throughout the room as he had shut the door behind him, leaving me further apprehensive as to what he had in mind. But, in no time, I had heard his heavy steps travelling back down to the basement again. I had warily watched him swagger over to me, his hair falling into his eyes as he bent down to place his loot on the ground. My eyes had nervously caught his as I had quickly taken note of the bottle of whiskey, the towel, the spare shirt, the basin full of water, and the needle and thread that he had laid down before me.

"Listen, Spot, now is not the time to try your hand out as a surgeon," I had whispered, horrified at what he seemed to have planned.

His face had broken into a small smile as he had chuckled softly. "I'd give any surgeon a run for their money, doll," he had whispered as his eyes had shone amusedly at me, "I've had to do this more times than I'd be able to describe to ya."

I had attempted a gentle smile in return, still feeling wholly unsure of his actual skill level, but had immediately felt an intense pang of agony surging throughout my body, causing me to finally grasp that I didn't really have any other viable options available to me.

He had held out the bottle of whiskey to me, stating softly, "Drink it. It'll help with the pain some."

I had hesitantly taken the cool bottle from his hands, unsure of how serious he was being about drinking it, but as another surge of pain had travelled throughout my leg and I had whimpered pitifully, his eyes had met mine again, nodding towards the bottle and stating, "Take a couple a' swigs, already, doll."

I had quickly unscrewed the cap and kicked back the bottle, hoping he would be correct about my pain diminishing, but after my first gulp a fit of coughing had seized my body, the fire of the alcohol mercilessly pouring down my throat and boiling uncomfortably in my stomach.

"This is awful!" I had managed to wheeze, blinking the tears out of my eyes and looking toward Spot, who had busied himself with threading the needle and unfolding the towel in front of him.

His eyes met mine gently as he responded with a smirk, "The taste of that ain't nothin' compared to how much this stitchin's gonna hurt. You'll want a few more swigs before I start this, Kate. Trust me."

I had noted the seriousness in his eyes as he had nodded again towards the bottle in my hand. So, still having nothing else to offer up as a solution I had scowled slightly and had taken several more hefty swallows of the molten gruel, doing my best to quell the gagging that so naturally followed. As the disgusting liquid began congealing in my stomach, and the strong wave of nausea that I had at first experienced passed, I had felt a tingling stretching from the center of my body slowly towards my limbs.

Several moments had passed between us in silence as I had felt my mind begin to slowly fall into a dull haziness, my limbs filling with a strange heaviness and my eyes having a difficult time focusing on Spot's profile in the dimness.

"One more, love," I had heard him murmur softly as he had taken the bottle from my shaky grasp and proceeded to pour another helping of whiskey into my numbing mouth. I had laid my head back against the wall dizzily, closing my eyes to the spinning room around me.

Spot's voice had again broken through the strange humming in my ears as he had whispered, "Deep breath, Kate." I had attempted to steel myself, clenching my jaw and shutting my eyes as I had felt him rip away the remaining stocking fabric from around my injury, pushing my dress up to my mid thigh and bracing one hand harshly against my calf as he fumbled with something next to me. But, all too suddenly I had felt white hot pain searing throughout my leg as my body had physically jolted from the feel of cold water pouring over my wound. Tears had dripped forcefully down my face and I had cried out, a further intense sting wracking me as I had opened my eyes long enough to see Spot pour a generous amount of whiskey over the cut. He had clamped the towel down over it with one hand, using his other to forcefully clench my thigh in an attempt to keep my leg still.

"Okay," he whispered, meeting my terrified gaze with a look of comfort as he continued, "Another deep breath, doll."

And just as the air had entered my lungs, it had forcefully escaped again into a howl of discomfort as I felt the needle begin to pierce my skin. I had thrown my head back against the wall, strong sobs bubbling up from the depths of my chest as the needle had continued to penetrate mercilessly through my leg. And, before long, my sobs were the only sound reverberating throughout the basement. I had wanted nothing more than to melt into the wall behind me, escaping from the horrendous pain surging through me, but all I had managed to do was cover my face with my hands, feeling utterly alone and lost in the void of my agony.

"Hey, kid, I think you're gonna make a full recovery."

Spot's voice had surprised me as it cut through my soft sobs. I had felt warm hands grasp mine, unveiling my tear-stained face to a mesmerizingly kind smile and gentle blue eyes. I had watched him wipe the back of his hand against my wet cheek, and then settle himself next to me, running his other hand through his somewhat damp hair. I remember sitting there in a calm silence, feeling Spot's body exhale slowly next to me. I had turned my head to look at him, his tan skin and golden hair shimmering in the light of the candle. His eyes had been closed, and for the first time I had taken note of the deep circles under them, making him look much older than he was.

"Thank you," I had whispered, staring at him intently. He had turned his head towards me, but instead of his eyes locking with mine, I had noticed his gaze immediately settling on my chin. He had brought his hand up gently touching my swollen jaw, and I had not been able to stop myself from wincing at the corresponding sting. I had turned away swiftly in embarrassment, feeling more tears welling up in my raw eyes.

"Hey, look at me." His command had been soft but stirring, and I had felt myself immediately acquiescing to it. I stared into his beautiful blue eyes, waiting for some kind of condemnation, or scolding, but he had said none of those things.

"You don't deserve ta have that beautiful face of yours all fucked up, Kate. I'd be more than happy to return the favor for ya."

I remember his use of the word beautiful had made me smile stupidly, the alcohol having had a numbing effect on my usually well-honed filtering skills.

"So you'd beat up Jack Kelly for me?" I had whispered almost laughing at the thought, completely convinced that he was merely exaggerating.

But when I had met his gaze again, his eyes had been filled with a surprising solemnity, and I had felt my cheeks reddening for some reason. I had dipped my face away from his as I had heard him say, "I'm surprised you didn't."

My eyes had snapped back to his, surprised at his assertion, and I had maintained eye contact as he had continued, "You aren't the type that needs a fuckin' white knight to come swoop in and save you, Kate. Anyone that's spent even a little time with you can see that."

I had squinted at him in interest, words spilling forth from me haphazardly as I had stated, "Then why do you keep coming to my rescue, Sir Spot Conlon?"

My question had seemed to surprise him, his eyes widening in thoughtfulness as he considered it, and in a moment of insecurity I had immediately regretted the query, feeling I had overstepped my limits with him.

But instead of the irritation I had steeled myself for, he had smirked, turning his body towards me and grasping my hands in his, saying, "Because you haven't figured out yet that you deserve nothin less than to be cherished." His eyes had born deeply into mine as he had asserted this and I had felt myself pulled toward him in a way I had never experienced before. But all too suddenly he had severed our connection, whispering almost inaudibly, "And I sure as fuck ain't the kinda white knight you deserve."

"Well good thing that's not something I actually need, then," I had said just as softly, giving him a small smile.

He had stared at me almost perplexed, but slowly, a genuine smile had lit up his face as well.

Yet, with an earth shattering jolt, I was abruptly forced from my reverie, and harshly brought back to the present moment as a loud crash reverberated throughout Mary's small apartment. I remained seated on the floor, somewhat frozen in confusion, but as I heard a harsh groan from the other side of my door as well as a corresponding thud I jumped up rushing through to the other side.

I frantically looked throughout the darkened living area, hearing another groan resound in the space. And, finally, my eyes adjusted enough to see the silhouette of Mary in the far corner of the kitchen, jerking about in an alarming way. I quickly rushed over to her, falling to my knees next to her as I was barely able to make out her reddening face and shaking frame.

I instinctively rolled her to her side, pushing her chin up slightly as a means to open her airway. I held her face in that position for what seemed like an eternity as I put my face next to hers, petting her graying hair and whispering, "Breathe, Mary. Breathe."

I laid on the floor, next to the woman I had become surprisingly close to during my stay in Brooklyn doing all I could to will her back to life. Every other worry and concern I had felt prior to this moment, flushed out of me with surprising force, and I palpated Mary's stomach gently while maintaining an open breathing position, my entire focus directed toward her struggle.

"Come on, Mary," I whispered tearfully, again pushing her chin upwards. "Deep breath."


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

It had been undeniably apparent to me from almost the first day I could clearly recall my time in Brooklyn, that Mary O'Connell was the very backbone of the lodging house. Of course, Spot was Brooklyn's born leader, so effortless was his charisma and command. But Mary undoubtedly was the glue that held all of them together, even the detached king himself.

She was not a soft woman by any means, but something about Mary made you want to be around her. Having always had an uncanny ability to sense and dissect the deeper rhythms that people unknowingly emanated, I had easily been able to get a feel for what made Mary so dynamic, even from our first conversation. And it was simply that there were no pretenses involved with her actions and feelings toward others. She was genuine and loyal to those she deemed worthy enough, and if you happened to fall within the small circle of her graces, you were a very lucky person indeed.

But, what _had_ been somewhat befuddling to me about Mary was her immediate acceptance of me as one of her own. Even though she knew nothing of who I actually was beneath all of my emotional and physical scarring, she had opened herself to me without hesitation. I was sure that when I had first been presented to Mary as the horrific, broken mess that I was, her pity for me had superceded any other requisite that she might have demanded had I been in my right mind. But, after having finally recovered from my drug-induced stupor several days into my stay, our interactions had led me to think something else was also at play.

Spot's immediate decision to keep me isolated had been quite a hard pill to swallow. I had never done well with long-term physical restraints and the solitude that had been forced upon me so shortly after my traumatic absence had been even more maddening. So, several days after my panicked escape attempt, I had found myself unable to stifle the strangled sobs that forced their way out of my chest, my whole frame completely dissolving into the desolation that so potently boiled within me. And, although Mary had popped in and out momentarily to check on me before, when I had seen her face peek beyond the door frame on that particular morning, I had desperately asked for a moment of her time.

"Mrs. O'Connell! Wait!" I had almost shouted through my sniffling. "Please let me be of some use to you. I cannot spend another hour in this room with nothing to do. I'm skilled at lots of different things and if I don't know how to do something I'll learn quickly. Please."

I had been surprised to see a warm smile spread slowly across her face as she had genially chuckled at me. Her green eyes had squinted indecipherably as she had responded, "It'd be a cold day in hell before any of these boys here would offer to do chores for free. At least not without Thomas threatenin' a lashing first. And here you are beggin' for the chance."

She had laughed again, shaking her head almost disbelievingly, and I had surprisingly felt a tiny portion of the hopelessness within my body subside slightly, giving me a little more room to take in a much-needed breath. I had almost felt a smile break out onto my own face as I had quickly said, "All the more reason to take me up on it."

She had raised her eyebrows, seeming to consider my proposal seriously, and after several silent moments she had shrugged and said matter-of-factly, "Well, come on then. Let's get you dressed and see how helpful you can be."

And even despite being wholly focused on leaving Brooklyn by any means necessary for those first few weeks, I had found a surprising amount of solace and perhaps even joy from spending my days helping Mary with the full load of chores that seemed to keep her busy. She had even commented wryly during our first afternoon together, "It's always amazing to me, what a little space and comfort can do. Gives you just enough room to start feeling like yourself again, eh?" which had managed to secure a gentle chuckle from me in return.

Our conversations were often short and infrequent, for she was a woman of few words, but, I found that when she did choose to converse with me, her sentiments were always exceedingly well thought out and perceptive. I began looking forward to the few moments of insight she would share with me during our initial days together, knowing innately that Mary O'Connell, as gruff and cross as she appeared, was certainly something special to behold.

And I soon found that she was also one of the few people who truly saw the multitude of facets that made up Spot Conlon, not just the image he put forth for the general public, though she rarely brought him up. But I could tell from the few conversations I had overheard between them while in my bedroom, that Spot held Mary in a higher esteem than probably anyone else in his life. She appeared to be able to reach him, pushing past the hard exterior that he had become so skilled at donning to keep others out, and impart things that he clearly needed to hear.

Spot never seemed to be particularly happy when Mary was able to sway him on something he felt strongly about, but due to the fact that Mary rarely interfered with him, or anyone else in her care for that matter, he often would listen when she felt there was something more to be said. And I had found that the snippets of Mary and Spot's relationship that I happened to witness in those first few weeks pulled me even more so to the Brooklyn leader, though I had fought with everything in me to maintain as big of an emotional and physical distance from Spot Conlon as was possible.

But, even despite my attempts to convince myself that I should feel nothing towards Spot for the obvious destruction that I would incur, one evening, as I had been absentmindedly staring out of the apartment window towards all of the boys coming in from their work day, I had heard Mary say, "He thinks by staying away he can keep you safe, you know. But that's only part of it, I suspect. If I didn't know better, I would say it that almost seems as if he's terrified of losing you."

I had snapped my head to look back at her, having completely forgotten myself in my lonely melancholy, but had felt my cheeks redden significantly as I had realized how easily she had discerned the true nature of my thoughts. I had quickly shaken my head at her, feeling a sudden need to declare the actual spirit of Spot's bond to me, stating, "I'd be surprised if that were actually the case, Mary."

Her eyes had penetrated through me uncomfortably, like a bright light shining in my face that I could not look away from. It was a look that easily stopped all my other thoughts from racing to the forefront, demanding my complete attention of what she was about to impart.

"I wouldn't," she had replied solidly.

I had sighed softly, not sure of how to respond to Mary's comments. I had considered that she might be right in her assessments on Spot's reasoning, as far as protecting me was concerned, but it had still changed nothing about our strained, undefined relationship. And that had been a very difficult sentiment for me to try to put into words.

Mary, however, had cut in through my thoughts once more as she had whispered quietly, "The only thing I find at all surprising is that he seems determined not to lose someone he never succeeded at making his in the first place."

And before I had even registered the thought, it had spewed forth from me in quiet earnestness, "If he had ever asked me, I would have been."

But I had paled considerably at the comment, unhappy that I had made such an assertion out loud when I knew that the complications between Spot and I were far more involved than a simple unspoken invitation.

Mary had also seemed to recognize the half-truth I had spoken, clucking her tongue with a knowing smile as she had replied, "He's always been a pursuer, never sticking around to see what would happen if he settled in. It would be too boring, I suppose."

I had nodded sadly in response, looking back toward the window and sighing once more as Mary had laughed softly, continuing, "That's not the case with you, though, is it, my dear?"

I had again faced her, shock radiating from me as she had smiled wider, saying "No, you aren't one of those quiet, obedient types he's usually with. I'm almost certain he hasn't got the first idea of what to do with a fierce, little thing like you."

She had emitted another amused chuckle as she had moved out of the room, saying softly, "It's the wild ones that scare us the most, but if we hold out, they always end up offering us the freedom we seek."

I remember standing in her living area for several moments, unable to digest her words in any meaningful way. Yet, as more days had passed, my mind had slowly begun to process all of her assertions and I had felt a multitude of questions fill me at the deeper meaning in her confusing statements. But I had remained silent, not confident enough of my standing with Mary, and certainly not sure if I even wanted to know the answers.

But, as my weeks continued in Brooklyn, I had strangely felt a bond begin to form between Mary and myself, especially when Spot had again become an accessible, albeit confusing, part of my daily life. And although I had spent my nights in the Brooklyn leader's protective arms, I had still felt an intense discomfort at the thought of sharing anything of substance with him, desperately attempting to maintain some sort of protective barrier around myself until I could be sure his promises had not been falsely made. But, my traumatic memories, having no sense of my readiness to cope with them, had been ever pushing toward the forefront of my consciousness, and I had found myself having an increasingly difficult time hiding my panic.

One particular evening, when I had been preparing a bath for myself in Mary's small washroom, I had felt a tiny tremor pass throughout my hands momentarily as I had commenced undressing from my daytime clothing. I had paused, staring down at my hands in confusion and considering briefly that I had simply imagined the shudder. But as I had pulled my skirt and shirt off, gently resting them over the sink, a much more forceful trembling had overtaken my movements. I had attempted to squeeze my hands into fists to gain better control of myself, and, thankfully, the movements had again subsided. Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, I had pushed forward with removing my undergarments. But upon touching the bandaging on my abdomen, wounds that I had been changing and cleaning myself for weeks at that point, I had felt an intense jolt to my body, and without warning, my mind harshly slipped into a horrific memory. I had fallen to my knees, losing myself and everything around me almost instantaneously as I had felt myself begin to chaotically break apart.

And before I knew it, I had haphazardly puddled into a panicked mess on the small bathroom floor, clutching my towel to my chest in an attempt to grasp anything outside of my demented psyche. I had not even noticed Mary's quiet entrance, or recognized her gentle touch on my back, but when I had heard my name softly murmured through my sobs I had looked back, feeling a strange mixture of embarrassment and relief as Mary's calm face came into view.

"Katherine," she had said again, her eyes communicating only kindness and understanding. "Take a deep breath. It may feel like this will last forever, but it is just a painful moment in time and it _will_ pass."

I had felt more tears spill forth from my eyes as I had sputtered, "It's not a moment, Mary, it's all my moments from now on. It's who I am now! Maybe the wounds have healed, but the scars are so far beyond the surface that they'll just sit and fester. I'm not just damaged, I'm ruined, and no amount of time will ever change that."

But Mary had broken through my sobs again, saying firmly, "This pain you feel, deep within you, it doesn't mean that you're ruined, love, quite the contrary. It's a sign that you are beginning to heal."

I had sat up erratically, pulling my knees into my chest as I had rocked back and forth, attempting to steady my sobs. But another wave of melancholy settled over me as I began to whimper, "I'm not strong enough to withstand this, Mary. I don't want to feel this way anymore. I want to stop hurting. It's too much. Please make it stop. Please."

I had felt more tears pour down my face as I had pleaded aloud for relief, not necessarily from Mary, but from anyone or anything that could offer it. The pain that had engulfed me had been suffocating and horrific, and in that moment, I would have preferred anything, even death, over feeling it.

But Mary had again cut through my deafening misery, bringing me back into focus as she had strongly grasped my bare shoulders and said, "You, Katherine Moore, are a survivor, and it may not feel like it, but you are so much stronger than the darkness you feel inside of you. Your hopelessness feeds it and makes it grow, but you can cut off the supply. You have to take control of this. You have to push on. Because if you dare give in to that blackness and let it take all of you, you will have lost the whole war in only a minor battle. This is a chapter, Katherine. Not your whole story."

I had stared at her, shocked momentarily out of my all-encompassing misery, and she had not wasted the short opportunity, shaking my shoulders slightly as she had continued, "I've never met a strong person with an easy past, my dear. And while the cards you have been dealt are more than overwhelming, they are not insurmountable. No one is courageous because they never feel fear or doubt. Strength and bravery come from pushing forward, even in the face of these things."

Our eyes had locked as I had felt my body beginning to calm in her strong grasp, and Mary had whispered, "You can, and you will keep going."

But, despite Mary's unwavering confidence that I was indeed some type of fierce survivor, I had many doubts about the validity of such an assertion myself. So, spurred on by the mere memory of the paralyzing fear I had felt that day on Mary's bathroom floor, I had made every effort to keep my mind busy and distracted, dreading a similar episode, or worse, if I remained complacent. I had not mentioned a word of it to Spot, and had even gone so far as to ask Mary to do the same.

Mary's face had constricted slightly in the wake of my request as she had unblinkingly met my gaze. It had been a late afternoon and I had been helping Mary with our dinner preparations. But knowing that Spot was due to show up any hour with the weekly groceries he usually picked up for Mary, I had felt a sudden need to ensure Mary's silence on the incident.

"Because you'll mention it to him?" she had queried slowly. But I had looked away sighing, not wanting to have to say the truth aloud.

"Katherine," Mary had stated, almost in a scolding tone. "You aren't being fair to him. At least give him the chance to disappoint you before you automatically assume he will."[CP11]

I had scoffed at the idea that somehow my actions would in any way be able to hurt Spot Conlon. At the time, I had assumed that expecting him to disappoint was not only a fair assumption on my part, but also a downright necessity with which I should arm myself.

However, as I sat in anxious anticipation next to Mary's body on the floor of her kitchen, relishing in the scratchy breaths I heard moving in and out of her lungs, a strange and distracting thought permeated through my mind, dictating that perhaps my protective assumptions about Spot had only created a scenario in which he had been forced to do nothing else but fail.

This thought had been fleeting, however. A momentary feeling pushed forth from the sheer relief that Mary had finally ceased her shaking and had commenced a labored breathing pattern. Thus, just as quickly, the mild forgiveness I felt towards Spot slowly dissipated and the scene I now sat within crashed harshly around me as I heard my name being spoken repeatedly by a familiar voice.

" _Kate! What the hell is going on?_ "

I turned my head quickly in the direction of the sound, meeting Rummy's alarmed gaze. I quickly grappled with my present situation, shaking my head in an attempt to clear my muddled thoughts as I mumbled inelegantly, "Mary was shaking and I—I wasn't sure what had happened so I was just helping her—I think—I hope she's going to be okay, but I—I don't know."

Rummy had swiftly moved to kneel next to Mary's still form, putting his fingers gently on her neck. He slowly turned his head toward me, the quick once over his eyes executed making a blush burn instantly into my cheeks as I suddenly realized the state of undress he had found me in. I quickly crossed my arms protectively over my chest and tucked my legs securely beneath me, pulling down the nightgown that had bunched around my thighs in all the commotion.

"She's breathing again," he murmured gently, pushing himself slowly to standing. "Let's get her into bed so we can make her more comfortable."

I stared up at him frozen for a moment, but he motioned with his head in the direction of Mary's bedroom, saying shortly, "Go turn down the bed and get it ready."

I sprang into action, pushing loose hair out of my face as I rushed into Mary's bedroom, fluffing her pillows slightly and pulling the blankets and sheet down as I heard Rummy groan then saw him slowly make his way into the room.

Once Mary had been successfully bundled in her bed and I had positioned her atop the pillows in such a way so as to encourage her fully breathing, Rummy and I stepped out of the room together. I saw him wipe his eyes tiredly with his hands and take a deep breath before facing me.

"Kate," he said, his eyes squinting in seriousness. "What the hell happened tonight with Conlon?"

I sighed, looking away from his gaze and crossing my arms over my chest in discomfort. "We had a bit of a falling out."

His exasperated groan shocked me into staring at him again. He shook his head irritably, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he snapped, "Oh, for fuck's sake, Kate. I swear to God, you two do more to fuck up your chances of bein' together than anyone else ever could."

I glared at him, slightly offended at his tone and the insinuation he seemed to be making. "It's not that simple, Rummy. You know how he is. You know that this whole situation is a ticking time bomb."

He quirked his head at me, a fierceness quickly enveloping his face and eyes. "Only because the two of you keep taking turns lightin' the goddamn fuse.

He sighed again, crossing his arms over his chest and turning his head toward the door of the apartment thoughtfully. Then, suddenly his gaze fell upon me again as he said quickly, "Stay here and watch over Mary. I'm gonna go get Spot and then the three of us are gonna have a chat."

I couldn't stop myself from making a small noise of protest as I asserted, "Rummy, I need to leave. I can't stay here with him anymore."

His harsh stare silenced me and I felt myself taking a step back in surprise as he said lowly, "Well, you better figure out a way to come to terms with the fact that you ain't goin' anywhere for a while. We're in a bit of a crisis here an' if you can't find it within yourself to stay for Spot, then look to that room there and remember the woman that didn't know ya from Eve but stood by you nonetheless."

I felt a pang of guilt reverberate through my body as I turned my head to look at Mary's still form in bed. I found myself slowly nodding as I met Rummy's gaze once more, only managing to mutter, "Okay."

And with an affirmative nod, he strode to the door, saying, "I'll be back as soon as I can." As soon as the door clicked closed, I made my way to the window in Mary's room, looking to Rummy's small figure disappearing into the surrounding twilight of Brooklyn.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

"You look like hell, Conlon."

As Rummy's deep voice broke through Spot's tired, distracted reverie, he couldn't help but feel an immediate tension spread indiscriminately throughout his shoulders and back. He noted how his hands tightened involuntarily as well, his initial soft grip on the railing of his perch overlooking the docks becoming taut. Spot sighed audibly, closing his eyes and shaking his head as he felt the accompanying warmth of Rummy's body moving next to him, a final, infuriating confirmation that his second in command was indeed set on continuing his intrusion into Spot's solitude.

"Aren't you supposed to be overseeing shit at the lodging house?" Spot asked gruffly, snapping his gaze toward Rummy with enough ferocity to dissuade the large boy from furthering any type of conversation with him.

But Rummy simply smirked good-naturedly, appearing to be completely nonplussed by Spot's harsh glare, as he replied, "Kate's got everything under control. I was more in the way than anything, to be honest."

And, almost like a punch to the face, the mere mention of Katherine Moore's name incited Spot's slow, but steady spiral of dejection and gloom, the same poisonous cocktail that he had sullenly been sipping from for the last several days. He felt his stomach sink, and a grimace involuntarily pass throughout his body as he glared menacingly at Rummy for a second time. He knew that Rummy's seemingly innocuous mention of Kate was, in actuality, a further probing of the uncomfortable conversation they had started the night of Mary's episode; more specifically, in the minutes following Rummy's disruption of Spot's entanglement with one of his past flings, an auburn haired girl by the name of Elizabeth.

Spot had not been proud of the string of ill-conceived actions that had so easily led him to Elizabeth's door that night. In truth, all he had been concerned with was completely obliterating his prior conversation with Kate from his memory by any means necessary. And while he had been unable to ignore the pervasive sinking feeling within his stomach during his journey to Elizabeth's single room abode, a visit he had realized hadn't felt like a necessity for several months, he had still pushed forward with the trek anyway. It certainly hadn't helped that she had welcomed him with open arms and willing lips, even in the face of his lazy and ultimately unsuccessful attempts at emoting any of his usual charm or interest. And, the fact that she had earnestly wrapped herself about him, whispering seductive sentiments that relayed her feelings of longing toward him, had been an even greater method of suppressing the horrible disquiet warring about his insides. But, honestly, his culpability could not be denied when all he did was consider the simple fact that he had let her continue without a word of protest. He had fallen blissfully into a comforting numbness as he had emptily gone through the motions of physically engaging with her, and he had reveled in it. Yet, the full weight of his lurking guilt had mercilessly come crashing down upon him anyway, as Rummy's loud knocking had abruptly interrupted his passionate, but luckily still fully-clothed, escapade.

And this self-reproach had only compacted further after Elizabeth had quickly opened the door to reveal Rummy's tall, imposing form in the hallway, the look of utter disgust radiating unapologetically from his shadowed face. He had shaken his head at Spot, making no move to enter in through the threshold as he had said, "We need to get back to the lodging house, Conlon. Mary had some sorta episode." Spot, who had initially been indignant toward his second in commands evident disapproval, had felt the color quickly drain from his face and a panic fill his chest at Rummy's alarming report. But before Spot had been able to blurt out any of the horrified questions that had immediately filled his head, Rummy had calmly asserted, "She's okay for now, but only 'cause Kate was somehow able to put her right. We still needta get some shit in order before the boys get up for the day."

Spot hadn't even acknowledged Elizabeth's presence as he had quickly stepped out of the room and into the dark hallway with Rummy, a sense of alarm still permeating through him at the thought of Mary's distress. But, even in the face of his surging concern, he had also felt a surprising glimmer of hope, the thought of Kate still being at Mary's apartment uplifting him slightly. Earlier that night, her angry promise to be gone by dawn had been an ominous reality that Spot had felt incapable of coming to terms with. But, as he and Rummy had walked away from the tenement house that Elizabeth had long called home, he hadn't been able to stop the feeling of relief that had continued to fill him. Kate had probably saved Mary's life in his absence from the way Rummy had quickly relayed the scene to him, and perhaps this also meant that ultimately, she would remain in Brooklyn after all.

Yet, the tiny high he had immediately felt in the wake of these considerations had been quelled slightly by Rummy's intrusive scolding, as the tall boy had muttered, "You know, most of the time, it's hard for me to decide who's the bigger fool between you and Kate, but, not tonight, Conlon. You easily win the prize, you asshole."

Spot had stared at Rummy, suddenly wrenched from his thoughts about Kate and Mary as a steady anger had begun to seep throughout him. The irritation towards Rummy quickly displaced much of the worry and hope he had initially felt, as he had harshly replied, "Why don't you watch your fuckin' tone, Rummy."

But Rummy, ignoring his leader's sharp warning, had spun aggressively to face Spot, halting their trek to the lodging house in its tracks as he had seethed, "I don't think I will. What the fuck is wrong with you, Conlon? Huh? Why would you actively try to fuck up your chances with Kate even more than you already have? Are you blind? You must just enjoy bein' fuckin' miserable!"

Spot had immediately felt the full force of his rage surge throughout him as he had threateningly pushed himself into Rummy's face, growling, "Don't put your fuckin' nose in shit that doesn't involve you, Rummy! But, if you must know, she made it fuckin' clear tonight that she wants _nothing_ to do with me. She refused _me_! She pushed _me_ away! _She_ said no, Rummy, so wipe that fuckin' judgemental mug off your face until you know what the hell it is you're talkin' about!"

Rummy had merely scoffed in Spot's face, narrowing his eyes further as he had said, " _I_ don't know what I'm talkin' about? You've got to be fuckin' kiddin' me, Conlon! I'm the _only_ one outa the three of us that has any goddamn idea of what's actually going on here!" Rummy had shaken his head in further fury as he had continued, "And as for her refusing you, what the hell did you expect? For her to just jump in fuckin' bed with you when you've never given her anything solid to go on? For her to suddenly be normal after what happened? God, you're so fuckin' thick! I mean, have you already forgotten that she was kidnapped and held hostage for weeks? Not to mention that the scar on her stomach is probably only the tip of a very fucked up iceberg. So, really, what the hell did you expect, Spot?"

"What the fuck does any of that have to do with me? Have _you_ forgotten that if it wasn't for me, she'd probably be dead by now? I've been keeping her safe from that shit! And I would _never_ hurt her like that! So where the hell do you get off attackin me like this? And where the fuck does _she_ get off, treatin' _me_ like I'm one of those sick fucks that took her in the first place?" Spot had all but bellowed in response, feeling his face redden and an intense throbbing begin to pulsate within his forehead and neck.

But Rummy had shockingly backed down from Spot, his face slowly morphing from rage to sadness and concern as he had quietly replied, "Unfortunately, that ain't the way it works, boss." He had faced Spot with genuine empathy in his eyes as he had continued, "She obviously went through some dark shit, and it's clearly still got a pretty firm hold on her. I mean, put yourself in her shoes for a minute, Conlon. You'd have a helluva time trusting anyone after goin through something as fucked up as that, and it's no different for her. I just-I think she needs you to keep bein' patient with her. But, above all that, I think you need to give her a good reason to trust you again."

Spot had taken a deep breath as he had backed away from Rummy as well, rubbing his hands over his face in utter exasperation as he had murmured, "I don't even know what the fuck to do or think anymore, Rummy. And I'm pretty sure I've fucked this thing with Kate up to the point where it might not even be possible to fix it."

He had turned toward his second in command, willing him to understand what he was saying, but Rummy had shaken his head as he had stolidly replied, "Well, for starters, why don't you tuck in your shirt, fix your hair, and wipe that lipstick off your face, cause nothin' good can come from you lookin' like you just got chased outta a fuckin' brothel." Rummy had paused just long enough for Spot to finally take notice of his disheveled appearance, but then had immediately and curtly continued, "Then, I'd suggest gettin' your head outta your ass so that maybe you can finally figure out what the hell it is you want from all of this. But I gotta warn ya, Conlon, if it _is_ Kate, you had better work fast. She's at a point now where this back and forth with you is really wearin' on her, an' I'm not sure how much longer she'll stick around."

Spot remembered feeling somewhat comforted by Rummy's statement, though still unconvinced of how to proceed in regards to Kate, or even what ultimate outcome he was hoping to obtain as far as a relationship with her was concerned. He had been aware that walking out on her hadn't been the right move regardless of what ended up happening between them, yet he had hoped that his reappearance that night would have garnered at least a small return of good faith from her.

But, when Spot and Rummy had finally made it back to Mary's apartment a few hours before dawn, Spot had come to the uncomfortable realization that he may have, in fact, damaged things with Kate beyond repair. And while Spot had been somewhat steeled for the angry tirade that he had certainly earned for himself that night, he had been shocked to see that his actual punishment from Kate was far worse. He had not at all anticipated the emotional walls that Kate had so quickly and deftly erected about herself, and he had definitely not expected their complete impenetrability. Any attempt he had made at speaking with her was either met with a sharp shake of her head or simply a complete disregard for his very presence.

Viewing Mary's disheveled sleeping form had certainly been emotional for Spot, especially considering the way they had parted only hours before. But it had been made that much worse when he had attempted to query Kate about Mary's status in his absence. Her eyes had actively avoided his as she had turned towards Rummy and stated, "She woke up a little while ago in a panic, but I told her not to worry. That we were going to take care of everything and that all she needed to do was rest and feel better."

And Spot soon found that anything Kate had to say, she communicated only to Rummy. If he hadn't been so shaken by how skillfully she had built a mighty fortress of protection around herself in the time he had been gone, he might have felt somewhat impressed. But, by the time the three of them had sat down to discuss the logistics of the coming days without Mary, the tiny sliver of hope that had initially filled him at the thought of her remaining in Brooklyn, had completely vanished.

They had all sat around Mary's small dining table, Kate's face pale and fragile in the gentle light of the kerosene lamp and Rummy's eyes red and tired as he had finally commented, "Well, the bottom line is that all the crap Mary does around here every day still needs ta get done."

Spot's eyes had snapped towards Rummy, utterly thankful that someone had broken the tense silence within the room, though the look Kate had flashed his second in command had also not escaped Spot's notice. He had watched the silent conversation Kate and Rummy had seemed to be having with some interest, the green-eyed girl's irritation and resistance wholly apparent.

But, after several moments, Kate had sighed in resignation, leaning back in her chair almost petulantly as she had muttered, "Fine. I'll handle Mary's chores for now. But, you'll need to figure out a longer term solution for this, Rummy."

Even though Kate had not been speaking directly to him, Spot had still felt the burn from her scathing comment, knowing full-well that this had been her specific intention. However, before he had been able to speak to this, Rummy had nodded curtly, replying, "That settles that then. But a few things before we go break the news to the boys."

Rummy had paused meaningfully, first looking sternly towards Spot then back to Kate as he had said, "While this is our set up, the two of you need to play fuckin' nice with each other, especially in front of the boys. We need to look like we are all on the same page here so that there ain't no more talk about mutiny or anything else that could threaten to rip Brooklyn apart. Kate," Rummy had turned to her as he had forcefully continued, "You need to be behind Spot, no matter what. That means no bad-mouthin' him to anyone or in front of anyone and no questionin' his decisions in front of the boys. I don't care what jackass move he makes, you keep your shit together until ain't no one else around. And, Spot," he had then faced Spot with just as much seriousness as he had stated, "Own this as your decision. You appointed her, you trust her. She's one of us."

After Spot had curtly nodded his assent to the proposed plan, both he and Rummy had turned their focus toward Kate who had remained wholly ambivalent throughout the entirety of Rummy's speech. She had sat almost frozen in her chair, avoiding eye contact with both boys while also anxiously gnawing on her thumb nail. Spot had felt a strong pull to the girl, even in her quiet chaos, but Rummy's eyes had flashed at Spot momentarily, almost as a warning to not engage with her until she had finally refocused on the conversation at hand. And Spot, having been at a complete loss with everything involving Kate at that point, had again nodded in agreement.

"Kate," Rummy had prodded firmly, after several more moments had passed in silence.

Kate's bright green eyes had lifted slowly to meet Rummy's probing gaze as she had released another heavy sigh while nodding slowly.

"Alright then, I'm gonna go start wakin' the boys for the day," Rummy had said lightly, pushing himself to standing. "Kate, why don't you go get dressed and meet us down in the main room so we can all make the announcement together."

And after Rummy had secured another slow nod from Kate, he had made his way out of the apartment. Kate had tiredly stood herself and moved towards the spare bedroom, but Spot had not been able to stop from jumping up and quickly putting himself between her and the doorway. Her eyes had closed as she had shaken her head and bitten her upper lip in frustration.

"Kate, let me-"

But before he had been able to complete his statement, Kate had groaned and quickly circumvented his stance. Yet, unable to let it go, Spot had gripped her arm just firmly enough to spin her back towards him.

"Get your hands off of me!" she had hissed, aggressively yanking her arm away from his grasp.

"Just let me talk, for fuck's sake, Kate!" Spot had spat out in frustration, but Kate's face had remained set in exasperation as she had agitatedly muttered, "I'm about to have to go downstairs and swear my undying loyalty to you, when I know for a fact that you would never be able to do the same for me. Not to mention I have to work a full day by myself after being up all night. Don't misinterpret my motives here, Spot. I'm doing this for Mary, not you, and the very moment Rummy finds a better solution, I am out of here. So, unless you need to interact with me in some official capacity, stay out of my way. Otherwise, I don't know if I'll be able to keep this up for much longer."

Kate's frank response had completely caught Spot off guard, causing him to stare at her in slight awe as she had again moved past him, this time shutting the door to Mary's spare room securely behind her. And, unfortunately for Spot, in the days following that interaction, things had been much the same with Kate. She had either ignored his presence completely, or had curtly relayed necessary information without even allowing a moment's pause for his response. Thus, after two days of her infuriating, almost degrading treatment, Spot had begun to avoid the lodging house like it contained the very plague itself.

The boys, however, had reacted almost disinterestedly to the announcement of Kate's interim position, not even attempting to start a whisper of trouble with her which had certainly been a better outcome than Spot had anticipated. And perhaps this change in attitude towards her had been somewhat related to Rummy and Spot's very visible support, but after Spot had unintentionally overheard a small interaction between Kate and one of the older boys, he had begun to suspect that there was probably more at play.

He had been irritably smoking a cigarette on the fire escape outside Mary's room as the sun had begun to set the prior day, wholly uninterested in being anywhere near the overpowering discomfort that Kate's stoic presence had been continually causing him. But he had immediately jolted his head upward as he had heard a familiar voice begin speaking from the roof above.

"Ms. Kate?"

Tops, a boy of about fourteen, had been a resident at the Brooklyn Lodging house nearly as long as Spot himself. However, unlike his leader, Tops had been a quiet and nervous boy, often avoiding interactions with others at great costs, but always somehow maintaining an unquestionable loyalty to Spot. So Spot had not been able to help the intrigue that had filled him as he had taken note of the boy's surprising interaction with Kate.

"You don't have to say miss, I'm not that much older than you." Kate's voice had gently responded. "And you are?"

"Tops," Spot had heard his newsie quickly, but softly chime in, as he had continued, "I didn't think you were old, you just seemed more like a lady than any of the other girls we usually see round here."

Spot had heard Kate's response of "Mhm," sound slowly across the roof, a lilt of suppressed laughter clearly apparent in her tone. Spot, too, had been unable to stifle his reaction to Tops' comment as he found himself shaking his head in exasperation. He had been immediately aware of what the awkward boy had been referring to, and had been slightly annoyed that Tops had shared his less-than-impressed opinions of the women that Spot had occasionally brought to the lodging house with anyone, let alone Kate. But what had truly caught Spot off his guard had been Kate's lack of response, for she too had clearly been in tune with Tops' thinly veiled meaning. Spot, having assumed that she would not be able to resist taking the clear bait to insult him, had been pleasantly surprised that she had abstained.

"Well, what can I do for you then, Tops?" Kate's voice had broken through after several moments of silence had passed between the two.

"The word goin' 'round is that you're the reason Mary's still alive," Spot had heard Tops mutter quietly. Kate, however, had remained silent, leading Spot to wonder what emotions had registered on her pretty face in lieu of a response. But, Tops had quickly continued by muttering, "I know a lot of us boys here ain't been real friendly to you. Probly' cause we was all still sore about what happened with Flit, an' then seein' Spot stand by ya all this time, even when some a' the boys tried to take Brooklyn from him, was confusin' to say the least. But, after this thing with Mary happened, an' you've been havin' to do so much for all of us here, well...I guess, thank you is all."

Another silence had followed Tops' surprising ramblings, and Spot remembered feeling somewhat proud not only of his newsboy for speaking out in support of the overwhelmed girl, but also of Kate, for hunkering down and filling in for Mary in a desperate situation, even in the face of her hurt and anger. And, clearly, her hard work had not gone unnoticed.

But before he had had a chance to further explore that line of thinking, Spot had heard Tops finish his sentiments by saying, " None a' the other boys'll probably say nothin' about it to ya, but I know they most likely 'preciate it all the same."

Then, after a few more quiet moments, he finally had heard Kate's genuine whisper: "I'm just glad I could help." And, shockingly, he remembered feeling a smile touch his lips.

But all too quickly, Spot felt his attention pulled back to the present moment, as Rummy said lightly, "I can see why she's always been able to hold your interest, Conlon. She's fuckin' sharp as a tack an' savage as hell. I swear if she were a boy, she'd give any of us a run for our money. You shoulda seen the way she-"

"Jesus Christ, Rummy, enough already!" Spot snapped loudly enough for the few Brooklyn boys who were scattered about the docks below to look up momentarily in their leader's direction. Spot, however, paid the boys little mind, instead choosing to glare irritably at the gently smirking one standing next to him as he continued, "She's pissed at me, okay? She's barely acknowledged my presence for the last three days! So, what is it that you want from me here?"

"To try a little fuckin' harder," Rummy replied in a somewhat exasperated tone. "I mean, shit, Conlon. You're ready to throw in the towel after three fuckin' days? That's kinda pathetic, even for you. You've given girls half as interesting as Kate a helluva lot more time than that before."

"Well, with those girls I already knew where the fuck I stood," Spot muttered distractedly, thinking back to the other women that he had successfully pursued in the past. It had been obvious that they had wanted him, and the small amount of fight they had put up in the interim was only a further indication to Spot that it was all just a game to be played out as long as possible in the hopes of securing his continued interest. But thinking further about the strange hold that the green-eyed girl from Manhattan had always seemed to have on him, he turned back towards Rummy, piquedly continuing, "With Kate, who the fuck knows. I've never been able to get a read on her like the others. She's constantly doin' all kinds of unexpected shit that drives me up the fuckin' wall. I mean, when I've pissed off some of these other girls, they've never pulled the crap she's pullin' right now. A simple apology and Julia or Elizabeth would be right as rain, but not Kate. She won't give me the goddamned time of day, even if I was tryin' to tell her how sorry I am."

Rummy snorted, shaking his head amusedly as he replied, "Why the hell would you expect Kate to fall for the same crap that every other girl falls for? I'm sure she's seen your pitiful excuse for an apology before, and I'm bettin' she's smart enough to know she deserves a helluva lot more than that." Rummy paused momentarily as he lazily brought a half smoked cigarette up to his mouth and lit it before he continued, "She's different, and I'm pretty sure that's why she's always caught your eye. She's kinda a wild-card and she's never been afraid of challenging you or of fallin' outta your graces if she does."

"Yeah, she's definitely proven to be more difficult than anyone else I've ever been with," Spot interrupted irritably, shaking his head somewhat in defeat. As much as he wished he could live up to the expectations that Katherine Moore had unknowingly placed upon his shoulders for the entirety of their acquaintance, Spot knew innately that the lure to revert back to what was comfortable would always be much more powerful. No girl had been able to sway these natural instincts within him before Kate, and though she did present something wholly inexplicable in his realm of understanding, he fully expected it to end the same way it always had.

But Rummy smiled at his leader, completely undeterred by his forlorn conclusions as he chimed in, "And she's exactly what a selfish pain in the ass like you needs."

Rummy passed the lit cigarette to Spot who thoughtfully peered out over the river, a cold breeze blowing somewhat forcefully across the docks as he took a deep drag.

"I ain't the settlin' type, Rummy. And that'll only hurt Kate in the end. She deserves someone who's decent and'll do right by her. I just don't think that's ever gonna be me."

Rummy sighed gently as he remarked,"Conlon, I know we're young now, but eventually this girl hoppin' routine you got goin'll get tired. Honestly, I think the only reason you still keep it up now is 'cause you always set your sights on the wrong kinda girl to start with."

Spot scoffed, shaking his head as he took another hefty drag. "Well, if Kate's the _right_ kinda girl, why the hell haven't we been able to make this work after all these years?"

"Kinda hard to make somethin' work when neither of you ever decided to try in the first place," Rummy said lowly, cutting a somewhat suggestive glance in Spot's direction.

Spot rolled his eyes, blowing out a thick stream of smoke as he replied, "What the hell are you talkin' about? I've been at this with her for almost three years now."

Rummy snorted for a second time, snatching the cigarette out of Spot's hand and taking a quick inhale before saying, "I'll give ya that Kate is certainly the longest thing _resemblin'_ a relationship that you've ever had. But you ain't gonna get full credit when she was already with someone else for a huge part of that time. It's easy ta be with someone when you don't actually have to make any real commitment, Conlon."

"Well," Spot murmured gloomily, "I'm still not convinced that I shouldn't just let her be."

Rummy grunted, shaking his head as he also peered out into the hazy sky ahead. "All's I know is that she's the one you always seem to go back to. An' when she was gone all that time, you were a fuckin' mess," Rummy paused momentarily, giving Spot a meaningful look before continuing, "So maybe you oughta ask yourself an important question 'fore you make a decision one way or the other. How would you feel if you lost her for good? I mean, would you be able to get over it eventually, or wouldja always regret it in some way?"

Spot found himself genuinely thinking through Rummy's proposed scenario, quietly considering a life without Katherine Moore in it. And without a moment's pause, an all too familiar sinking feeling flooded his stomach harshly as his mind extrapolated a reality in which Kate held no substantial role. The thought of no longer seeing her, of never speaking with her again made him nauseated. And the idea of any other man being privy to her sharp wit, her full lips, or even her fiery temper caused him to reel with jealousy. He was somewhat confused as to where this sudden outburst of possessiveness was coming from, especially because Kate had never been his in the first place. But even so, for some reason she had always seemed to be different.

Typically, he had not only assumed, but also had wholeheartedly expected the other women he had bedded in the past to pursue relationships with other men. In actuality, he had somewhat encouraged it, for he had always feared their eventual demands for more from him. But, he would be lying if he ever tried to assert that he had wanted the same setup for Katherine Moore. Her relationship with Jack alone, regardless of its eventual abusiveness, had pushed Spot to a place where he had, for the first time in his life, considered severing ties with the Manhattan leader simply because he had not been able to stomach any sign of affection between Kate and Jack. The thought of Jack fucking her, or kissing her, or even putting his damn arm around her shoulders still made Spot's blood boil. And he knew innately that this uncomfortable jealousy would most likely be even worse for someone that he did not consider a friend. But, as time passed, would these feelings ultimately dwindle? Or would he be left to wonder for the rest of his life if happiness had eluded him simply because he had never taken a chance with Kate, regardless of the end result?

Spot slowly turned back to Rummy, meeting his second in command's gaze as he frustratedly muttered, "Say you're somehow right about all of this shit. How the hell do you propose I get her to even consider trustin' me again?"

Rummy smiled, stating playfully, "I don't know, Conlon. You seem ta' be pretty good at wearin' down lots of other girls so's they'll get into bed with ya. Maybe use some a' that famous persistence on Kate."

Spot scowled at Rummy, irritated that he had so humorously and easily made a dig in regards to Spot's past exploits with women. "Fuck you, Rummy," he had snarled sharply, shaking his head and yanking the small remains of the cigarette away from the tall boy to take one last puff.

"Hey," Rummy replied, raising his eyebrows matter-of-factly in response to Spot's glare, "I never said any of this shit with Kate would be easy, Conlon. I just think it'll be worth it in the end."

And although Spot was willing to concede that there was at least some truth to Rummy's assertions at the docks, he was again confronted with the pieces that his relationship with Kate had ultimately crumbled into after their most recent confrontation, as he made his way back into Mary's apartment near dusk. He walked in to Kate bustling about the small space, filling a pitcher with water and bringing it into Mary's room without even looking in Spot's direction. He peered interestedly at the two women from his stance in the entryway as he took off his worn coat and gloves, feeling a sudden inner warmth fill him as he noted Mary's wakeful state. The old woman had been in and out of consciousness for the past few days, but seemed to be coming back to herself more and more as time passed, her sudden exclamation of, "Lord have mercy, Katherine, that water is cold enough to freeze the nipples off the devil himself!" being even further evidence to support this idea.

Spot watched quietly as Kate apologized with a small smile, some stray curls falling into her pale face from the pinned up hairdo she had begun wearing during the day. She pulled back from Mary, bringing the pitcher with her to heat the water on the stove for longer, still thoroughly evasive of Spot's presence.

He cleared his throat, then stated clearly, "I already collected the nightly deposit, Kate." But he found himself sighing in irritation as he was met with more silence.

He had hoped that perhaps tonight's interactions with Kate would be different from the prior three nights. That, maybe if Kate finally broke down the icy walls about her just a little, he would take it as enough of a sign to know that further pursuance of her was not a purely hopeless endeavor. But, unfortunately, the situation appeared much the same to Spot.

However, when he walked closer to Kate, he quickly noted that there was potentially more than anger propelling her usual avoidance. He saw her clench and unclench her fists, her green eyes dark and distant as she absentmindedly stared at the slowly heating water.

"Kate," Spot prodded softly, still maintaining some distance from the girl.

Kate's body jolted as she finally spun around to face him, thus confirming Spot's prior tentative assumptions. He felt a worry fill him as he saw the deep, dark circles under her eyes, her face uncharacteristically pale and her gaze eerily vacant.

"Kate, lemme finish up with Mary tonight. Why don't you head to bed. I know you must be spent," Spot offered gently, attempting to convince her with his sincere stare that his proposition was made in good faith.

She stared at him momentarily, seeming to consider his offer, but then sighed and quickly asserted, "I have to help Mary with this bath and then change the sheets to her bed, and I haven't finished entering last night's deposits into the ledger, oh, I guess tonight's too, and-"

"Kate," Spot interrupted firmly, staring unwaveringly into the girl's beautiful, tired eyes, "Some of that can wait until tomorrow and the rest of it I'll take care of, okay?"

She studied him for several more moments, looking as if she might attempt another argument, but then closed her eyes while nodding slowly as she murmured, "Alright."

And, after she removed the heating water from the stove, she tiredly made her way into the spare room, turning one last time to shoot Spot a somewhat confused but thankful glance as she shut the door behind her. Spot sighed softly, grateful for her quick, non-confrontational acquiescence, and then turned to take a quick inventory of what exactly still needed to be done. He extinguished the stove and finished some of Kate's outstanding chores, cleaning the few dirty dishes he saw on the counter and checking on Mary momentarily before he moved to the dining room table to update the lodging house ledger.

And after about an hour of checking the prior entries and updating the ledger with new ones, Spot stretched his arms up, yawning slightly. He made a mental note to recheck his work the following day, but decided that he also needed to get some sleep for he could barely keep his eyes open long enough to enter in the next payment. He quietly pushed his chair back and stood, shaking out his tense shoulders somewhat to relieve the ache in his back, and then began to head for the door to exit Mary's apartment.

But, all too suddenly, an unusual noise jolted him out of his exhausted trek. He turned quickly, moving in the direction from which the strange coughing and sputtering seemed to be originating, but realized with a surge of panic that Kate's room was clearly the source. He paused momentarily, unsure of his actual need to barge in through her door. She could simply be dreaming, and disrupting the little sleep that she was going to get for the night would do more harm than good. Ultimately, it would not gain him any ground as far as mending their relationship was concerned either. However, when he noted several definitive thumps shake the floor of the apartment a moment later, he could not stop himself from pushing through the door to her room, fully anticipating some type of struggle to be underway.

Yet, when Spot glanced about the bedroom, he saw no sign of an intruder, but he was quickly able to make out Kate's shaking form on the floor next to her bed, gagging in a way that made him reach for the basin on her dresser. He immediately rushed to her side, alarmed by her white face, red eyes, and labored breathing. And after kneeling down next to her, he put a comforting hand on her arched back as he heard her retch painfully into the basin.

"Kate, what's going on? Are you okay?"

But the moment his voice quietly echoed about the small room, Kate wrenched her body aggressively away from his touch, shrieking, " _Get your fucking hands off me_!"

He pulled back immediately, alarmed by not only her unsettling reaction, but also the speed with which she scampered to the nearest corner of the bedroom. Yet, as he watched Kate shakily wrap her body into a tight ball, rocking back and forth while her breaths came in short, desperate pants, it dawned on him that she did not seem to be wholly aware of herself or her surroundings, a moment very much reminiscent of her disturbing first night in Brooklyn. So, pushing aside his initial instinct to leave her be, Spot gently stood and made his way nearer to the corner she had pressed her body into, murmuring, "Kate, it's me-it's Spot. You're in the lodging house in Brooklyn. You're safe."

Spot remained still for several minutes, watching worriedly as Kate continued to rock back and forth, still utterly oblivious to the reality around her. He slowly sat down on the floor and inched even closer to her, attempting to engage her again as he said, "Kate, you're safe. You're in Brooklyn with me and Mary and Rummy, and the other boys. No one will hurt you here."

And, a momentary relief rushed through Spot's body as he saw Kate's head emerge from it's secure position, several strangled cries escaping her lips as she squinted her red eyes in confusion, whimpering, "Spot?"

He nodded earnestly, further reassured when he saw her body gingerly unravel itself from the protective shell she had so quickly molded into. She exhaustedly collapsed against the wall behind her with a resounding thud as she wiped her hands slowly over her face, all the while attempting to steady the erratic sobs that still wracked her body.

And as the minutes continued to pass, Spot felt his own body relax slightly against the wall behind him, Kate's sobs waning even further. He still maintained his distance, noting the tremble in all of her movements as she dropped her hands from her face and pulled her knees gently into her chest.

And, in that moment, as he sat so near to the shaking girl, he wanted nothing more than to go to Kate, to hold her and comfort her through the all-consuming despair that seemed to be wreaking havoc upon her body, but he instinctively stopped himself. And, this time, the fear that had governed his movements nearly three days ago was not the reason. But rather, the recognition that he had not yet earned near enough of Kate's trust back to be worthy of the level of intimacy that act required. He was no better than a stranger to her now, which had put him in the uncomfortable position of seeing just how close to her he had been before. And as he stared at the frightened mess of a girl still sniffling against the wall, that realization, though both humbling and terrifying, illustrated so clearly to Spot just how much he craved that closeness again.

He watched her chest rise and fall somewhat erratically, while also worriedly taking note of her wet, splotchy face and raspy breaths. And, after softly murmuring, "Hold on," he quietly stood up, grabbing the soiled basin from the floor as he moved to the kitchen, filling a glass of water and wetting a rag before he quickly returned to Kate's side.

She raised her watery eyes to his, fresh tears falling down her face as she squinted at him in embarrassment and confusion. However, Spot, attempting to assuage her shame, softly asserted, "Here, this'll help."

Her stare darted to the glass of water that he held up while she sniffled, avoiding his gaze and murmuring, "Thank you." He aided her in taking the glass, her grip still somewhat shaky as she lifted it up to her dry lips. Then, after downing several swallows, she unsteadily handed the glass back to him, nodding in appreciation as she took the wet rag from his outstretched hand.

And, once Kate had pressed her face into the cool rag for several moments, she surprisingly allowed Spot to pull her to standing and lead her back to her bed. She sighed as she gingerly laid herself back down, pulling the covers over her chest. As Spot watched her movements quietly, he couldn't help but marvel at the speed with which she seemed able to recover from the torturous emotions that had wholly ravaged her body mere moments before. But he still felt a concern boiling within him, her pretty face, although returning to its normal color, still radiated fear and anxiety. So, as Kate's uncomfortable gaze fell upon him and she muttered, "Thank you, Spot, but I really think it's best for you to leave now that-" he quickly interrupted her.

"Listen, Kate, I'm gonna stay," he said firmly, staring challengingly into her tired eyes as he lowered himself into the worn chair by her bed. "I won't bother you or anything, but I'm stayin' here."

And in response, Kate closed her eyes with a frustrated huff. But, her exhaustion seemed to somewhat overpower her need to argue further with Spot, for after only a few minutes she sighed heavily and then rolled over to sleep. Spot, finally feeling the tension begin to leave his body, rubbed his hands over his face and tiredly relaxed into the back of the chair, further relieved as he watched her breathing slow to a steady pace. And after several moments of seeing her chest rise and fall rhythmically, he leaned his head back and allowed his own eyes to close, comforted by the repetitive sound of Kate's soft breaths.

Suddenly, feeling as if only a few moments had passed, Spot jerked awake to a mid-morning glow of sunlight streaming in through Kate's window. He shook his head, wincing at the sharp pain that quickly spread across his neck and shoulders as he stood somewhat unsteadily, attempting to gather his bearings. Yet, a further panic filled him as his eyes fell upon Kate's empty bed, and he found himself stumbling out of the room, quickly scanning the apartment for the green-eyed girl.

"She's hanging laundry, Thomas."

Spot jolted as Mary's voice quietly broke through the dread that had so easily overtaken him at the thought of Kate being gone. He turned to face the old woman who was upright in bed, reading a copy of the morning edition and smirking knowingly in his direction.

He took a deep breath, still attempting to grapple with his muddled, tired thoughts, but quickly nodded towards Mary and then headed toward the door to make his way up to the roof.

As he was leaving, he almost thought he heard Mary murmur, "Glad you finally came to your senses, Thomas," but when he glanced in her direction, she appeared to have her nose buried in her newspaper. He smirked lightly to himself, somewhat humored by Mary's stealthy addition, but then turned his full attention to finding Kate.

And after he had hurriedly climbed the stairs to the roof, he slowed his gait as he caught sight of Kate on the far side hanging up the damp sheets from the bunkroom beds. He stood back for a moment longer, watching her from a distance. Her hair was pulled up somewhat messily, several dark curls falling onto her neck and forehead. Her face looked bright and clear, and she was humming quietly to herself. He continued peering at Kate amusedly, as he proceeded toward her swaying form, and just as he came within arms distance of her, she quickly met his gaze, asking matter of factly, "How's your neck?"

He smirked, reflexively placing his hand over the tense muscles, replying, "Hurts like hell."

Kate's eyes brightened somewhat, a small smile pulling at her own lips, but they both turned as a rough gust of wind blew across the roof suddenly, unclipping a sheet corner from the line. Spot rushed over to it, catching the flailing edge and reclipping it to the hanging line before returning next to Kate.

She caught his eye again as she murmured, "Thank you."

And although they said no more to one another, he and Kate both began clipping the remainder of the laundry to the hanging lines together, causing Spot to immediately become aware of the natural, almost instinctive rhythm that he usually experienced when interacting with her in any way. And when she glanced at him once more, and offered him a somewhat thankful smile, he started to consider that, perhaps, all hope was not lost after all.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

I sat down at my family's dining room table tentatively. The lights in our apartment were unusually dim, casting disturbing shadows about the living area, and my parents seated themselves stiffly across from me, a somberness evident in both of their shadowed stares. I looked apprehensively first to my mother's distant face and then my father's stern one.

"Katherine," he finally said lowly after several tense moments of silence had passed."We have tried time and again to manage you, child, but no matter what we do, you still remain completely out of control."

His statement struck me like a punch to the gut, and I felt my body buckle in response as I pleaded gently, "Papa, I know, but I can fix this. I can do better, I promise."

But he simply shook his head, his light eyebrows furrowing in angst as he severed our eye contact, stating quietly, "It's too late for that now. Our hands are tied. We have no other choice."

"No choice but what?" I whispered emotionally, feeling my heart rate begin to significantly increase, panic surging throughout my body as I quickly looked toward my mother, wide-eyed and helpless.

"Momma," I murmured, feeling fearful tears begin to build within my eyelids. "Momma, I can do better. Please."

But my mother, whose eyes shone glassy with her own unshed tears, quiveringly replied, "We have no other choice, my love. Our hands are tied."

And I found myself shaking my head, stifling a sob as I erratically rushed to her, grabbing her small, fragile hands in mine and kneeling before her, saying, "No choice but what, Momma?"

But all she managed to do was shake her head in response, pushing me to desperately grab her shoulders as I almost shrieked, " _No choice but what_?"

I felt myself unraveling further as she pulled away from me, moving stoically towards the edge of the room and disappearing into the shadows. I looked back to where my father was sitting, horrified when I found his chair suddenly empty.

"Papa!" I yelled, but my voice sounded strangely hollow and muted, my following cries barely discernible as I rushed to the place my father had been only moments before.

And suddenly, I jerked to a halt as I felt strong, cold fingers grip the back of my neck painfully. I whimpered, attempting to pull against them, but I merely felt the hold tighten and sharp fingernails dig roughly into my skin.

"No," I whispered pathetically, feeling my head pulled upwards as a handful of my hair was aggressively yanked back while I was forced roughly onto my stomach.

"Please," I whimpered, nausea flowing through me as my skirts were pushed up past my thighs, even in spite of my flailing limbs.

But a hot breath tickled the back of my neck as my head jolted upwards from a quick yank to my hair, a dark familiar voice growling, "I'll get control of you, pathetic whore."

" _No_!"

My screams echoed deafeningly, but I knew that no one would come to my aid. I was alone in my pain and my fear, flailing desperately amidst the darkness in the hopes of fighting my way to freedom. But, strangely, another familiar voice broke through the all consuming void I seemed to be floating within, slowly chipping away at the blackness with the repeated, gentle utterance of my name.

" _Kate, come back_."

I felt my body somewhat solidify onto a surface, my back stiff and aching. But the voice again penetrated through my delirium, whispering, " _Kate, you're safe. Come back_."

And almost as if I had finally been pulled to the surface from drowning, I reemerged sputtering and coughing, barely able to fill my lungs with air. My vision slowly returned as well, a pair of familiar blue eyes meeting my gaze.

But I still found my mind reeling with confusion as I reached out to grasp anything in my path, gasping, "You have to leave! He'll kill you! It's my fault- I'm impure-out of control-I have to pay-"

I was, however, immediately jolted from my panicked soliloquy as I felt my body surrounded by strong arms and my face pulled tightly against a muscular chest, a familiar, calming smell entering my nose.

"Shhh. Kate, you're in Brooklyn. You're safe. No one is here but me."

"Spot."

I sighed his name into his chest, closing my eyes and taking several deep breaths to calm myself. And after a few more quiet moments passed, I settled into him somewhat further, habitually wrapping my own arms around his waist as he tightened his grip on me.

"It was a dream?" I asked, my voice somewhat muffled.

"You're safe, doll," was Spot's quick, reassuring reply.

But, still somewhat groggy and amped from the vivid images that had been present only moments before, I began haphazardly releasing everything within me, like a washtub swiftly draining dirty water as I turned my face to the side and whispered, "He had me, and I couldn't fight him off. I was trapped and weak and stupid. And then he was taking me and it hurt. I never knew it would hurt so badly, being with someone like that. But it hurt-everytime-so much."

And once again, I felt hot tears of shame fill my eyes as several more sobs escaped my lips and I trembled forcefully.

But Spot's voice broke through my spiraling thoughts as he murmured into the top of my head, "It's not supposed to hurt, Kate. It won't, if you're with someone who cares enough to make it good for you."

Yet as I slowly came back to myself, finally fully in tune with the present, I felt a strange awkwardness fill me at my vulnerable position within Spot's protective hold on the floor and the inappropriate things I had just spewed forth without a thought. My cheeks burned in humiliation as I suddenly pushed myself to standing, stumbling haphazardly away from him and trying desperately to avoid his gaze as I mumbled, "I-I'm sorry if I woke you."

I heard him sigh as I quickly turned away, crossing my arms securely over my chest and shuddering slightly, my nightgown doing very little to warm me from the chill in the air. But not two moments passed before I felt his body slowly inch nearer to me, his hands gently resting on my shoulders and turning me to again face him.

"Hey," he said softly, lifting my chin up with his index finger until our eyes locked. His stare was purposeful as he squinted intently down at me, and I looked back wide-eyed, anticipating his next thought. "You don't have anything to apologize for. I'm here because I want to be, alright?"

I nodded slowly, distractedly marveling at how the moonlight shone mesmerizingly upon him, even in his disheveled state. His hair, though mussed, glinted gold in the low light and his eyes seemed to flicker, almost like blue flames. He was dressed only in his undergarments, and I couldn't help but feel a sudden need for his arms again, wanting nothing more than to lie next to him in bed, surrounded by his body and his smell. But the more pulled I felt to him, the more disgusted I became with myself. Because, although Spot had spent every single night of the past week and a half either on my floor or in the chair by my bed, I still felt a significant unease about the likelihood that it would continue with any consistency. And even though our most recent interactions had been a vast improvement from the days following Mary's episode, I could not help but fear his eventual abandonment. For nothing substantive had been spoken between us to ensure any lasting kind of change from him, and the further I slipped into my trauma, the less control I had over protecting myself from his potential capriciousness. Much like the false intimacy our current state of shared undress eluded to, our relationship still remained only surface deep.

But at the same time, being with him again, spending genuine time talking and laughing with him caused me to forget, even if just momentarily, that everything was just one insecure decision away from crumbling into nothingness. And, while his care seemed authentic, I questioned the true limitations of Spot Conlon's maintained commitment, knowing that the likelihood of him remaining for much longer was low at best. But, as much as I wanted it to be different, I didn't like playing with those kind of odds, especially when my well-being and sanity were at stake.

And several days prior, Mary had easily been able to interpret my uncertain feelings about the entire situation and provide her own insight as she had suddenly interrupted my quiet dinner preparations by saying, "He's a good man, Katherine."

Mary, in the week following her episode, had thankfully become much more mobile and aware, but both Spot and I had insisted that she take several more weeks to rest and recover before she did anything requiring substantial energy, leaving her mostly apartment-bound. And though she had not been at all keen on this idea, she had not fought too hard against the decision, firmly stating that she would be back to her normal chores in no time. But Spot and I had known almost immediately that the level of activity that Mary had typically operated on before her episode had not been at all reasonable for a woman her age. However, we had bought ourselves a few more weeks before needing to have that discussion with the fiery, stubborn widow.

Yet, I soon became very aware of the glaring downside to Mary's forced resting period, as I had found that she rather enjoyed accompanying me throughout the apartment while I cleaned during the day, making sure to relay her numerous critiques of my methods. However, on that late afternoon, when she had uttered something other than her usual overbearing commentary, I had looked up from chopping carrots to meet her steady gaze.

"I never said he wasn't, Mary," I had replied somewhat firmly, immediately dissecting the obvious motive to her leading statement.

"You didn't have to say anything, my dear. I can see the doubt all over your face," Mary had matter-of-factly countered, causing me to drop my task momentarily so I could lean my head back and sigh.

"Why don't we just go back to talking about how I'm not chopping the carrots evenly enough," I had muttered irritably, shaking my head.

"Oh no, Katherine, you're actually doing a fine job this time. I can see you've taken my suggestion on the proper way to wield that knife more seriously," she had swiftly responded, peering at my work from her seated position at the dining room table.

"Mary," I had warned, rolling my eyes, "I don't want to talk about chopping carrots or Spot Conlon, alright?"

"Well, I don't very much care, Katherine," Mary had stated, almost in a scolding tone. "He made a mistake, and one mistake does not define a man. It's unfair to hold that against him indefinitely. Unfair to both of you, really."

"Don't they say all's fair in love and war?" I had replied sardonically, attempting to distract her long enough to avoid speaking any further about Spot.

She had chuckled momentarily, but had quickly countered, "And which are you trying to wage against Thomas, my dear?"

I had groaned at how easily she had seen through my comment, but after several quiet moments between us I had replied honestly, "I don't know. I never know what to do when it comes to him, Mary. I'm never sure where I stand with him."

However, I had been surprised to see a small smile grace her lips as she had suddenly asked, "You enjoy poetry, Katherine?"

Her question had shocked me so much that I had shaken my head and stuttered, "What?"

"Poetry," she had repeated as her smile had widened. "Your comment, about love and war was quite the poetic quip, my dear."

I had slowly nodded, unsure of her reasoning as I had said, "Yes. I like reading poetry sometimes, I suppose."

"Well," she had replied brightly, "You must be the reason behind Thomas' steadily growing collection back on the bookshelf there. He's been picking up different volumes for a few years now."

I had squinted at her in confusion, opening my mouth to respond, but before any words could come out, Spot had walked in with numerous bags in his hands. He had stared at me momentarily, his blue eyes questioning my frozen stance, but I had quickly shaken myself out of my surprise and gone to help him unload the groceries as I had heard Mary begin to hum a light tune. And while I had placed the perishables in the small icebox by Mary's counter, his eyes had again flashed at me as he had caught me staring intently in his direction.

But, when I had walked out of the room for a moment on my way to check on the drying laundry, Spot had come up swiftly behind me and put a hand on my shoulder, halting me as he turned me to face him. I had immediately noticed a smirk gently pulling at the corner of his mouth as he had said, "You keep giving me a strange look. What is it?"

I had stared up into his eyes, feeling slightly heady from how near he was to me as he had continued to survey me curiously, but I had quickly turned, saying sharply, "Pardon my sanity in a world insane."

When several moments had passed without a response, I had felt a mixture of sadness and confusion fill me. And from the stoic look on Spot's face, I had known definitively that Mary had been incorrect about Spot's interest in my poetry. The short line I had randomly quoted had been a favorite of mine that I had read to him many times before, and he had squinted at me with seemingly no semblance of recognition.

But suddenly, he had flashed a grin at me as he had quietly muttered, "Saying nothing sometimes says the most."

His quick relay of another one of my favorite lines had left me utterly stunned. But before I had been able to recover enough to respond in any way, he had shrugged, meeting my gaze once more and passing a finger down my jawline while murmuring, "Well, I'm off. Let Mary know that I was only able to get one onion instead of the two she asked for."

Yet, when I felt Spot's hand gently stroke my cheek, I was quickly brought back to the darkened room where we stood facing one another. He cupped my chin to tilt my gaze back to his, his eyes somewhat worried as they surveyed my face and he whispered, "Have I lost you again?"

I half-heartedly pulled back from his touch as I sighed, thoroughly overwhelmed by the vulnerable feelings surging throughout my body. It was late and I felt exhausted, exposed, and just outright confused. His actions and spoken sentiments for the entirety of our relationship swirled about my muddled brain almost infuriatingly, leaving me with no solid foundation with which to settle upon.

I looked back up into his still concerned stare, finally murmuring, "I want you here, too, Spot. That's the problem."

He quirked his head, seeming to be surprised by my response. But from the way his lips upturned slightly, I could tell he was also amused as he asked, "Why is that a problem?"

I sighed again, feeling somewhat frustrated with Spot's light response to such an important topic. "Because I'm setting myself up to be hurt again, Spot," I said exasperatedly watching him cross his arms over his chest, staring patiently and thoughtfully in my direction as I continued, "I want you to stay, to be here with me. Honestly, that's probably what I've wanted all along. But I want you more than just tonight, or the next week, or however long your limit ends up being, and I think I'm finally starting to understand that I can't depend on you to be able do that."

Spot considered my statements carefully, waiting several moments before steadily replying, "I don't want to leave you, Kate."

I groaned, swiftly countering,"Maybe tonight you don't. But what about a month from now, or even a year from now? And how long until you can't help but seek out someone else's company besides mine?"

I felt myself becoming more animated, the multitude of insecurities regarding my relationship with Spot beginning to seep out of me as I continued, "It's not in your nature to work in absolutes, Spot, and it's not fair for me to expect that from you. But, I'm aware enough of myself now to know that I _do_ work that way. And when this falls apart, because we both know that it certainly has the potential to, I'll be left in pieces as well."

His eyes bore into me somewhat uncomfortably as I spoke, causing me to turn away from him and steady myself by sitting on the bed. I continued to avoid his gaze, but saw his hands massage his face momentarily before resting his gaze back on me, murmuring seriously, "Kate, listen. I know I fucked up. And I know that you have a lot of reasons not to trust me, but I'm really trying here. I'm doing what I can to prove to you that I'm here for you. That I'm not goin' anywhere."

His words seemed sincere, and his eyes looked pleadingly toward me, willing me to concede the truth he had spoken, but I couldn't help the doubt that naturally filled me as my mind again pushed forward to the future. I raised my eyes to meet his as I quietly asked, "How do I know that any of this will last? That I won't just end up being like all the other girls in your life?"

He again paused for several moments and turned his head away from me, appearing to truly consider my queries with real attentiveness. But when his gaze fell to mine again, it held a reinvigorated purpose, and as he came to sit beside me on the bed, he gently placed his hand on mine, saying firmly, "Because you've always been different than those girls, Kate."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes irritably and turn away, underwhelmed and wholly unconvinced by his cliched phrasing. But Spot pulled my face back with more force, making sure he had my attention again before continuing, "Look. I've always hated the idea of being tied down. The thought of actually attempting any real kinda commitment with someone makes me wanna run for the fuckin hills."

"Wow, I'm practically swooning from all of your overly romantic sentiments, Spot," I interrupted bitingly.

But surprisingly, even in the face of my harsh glare, he laughed, shaking his head and amusedly patting my face before saying, "The bottom line is, Kate, that I don't wanna lose you. You were never supposed to mean this much to me. No one has before, but the truth is that you do. And I don't wanna let you go because…..it just feels wrong to be without you"

Although his sentiments were somewhat heartwarming, they were still not the solid statements I needed to feel secure with him. I thought for a moment about reminding him of the fact that he had never made anything at all official between us, even now. And that he had still not spoken to the issue of the other women in his life. But I was quickly distracted from my line of thinking when he said, "Rome wasn't built in a day, doll. You're gonna have to give me a little more than a few days to show you somethin' consistent." He chuckled to himself, removing his hand from my face while smuggly saying, "And I feel like sleeping on the floor next to your bed for the past week has been a pretty solid showing of my dedication already, don't you think?"

I was momentarily shocked by his self-satisfied smirk, my sarcastic reply effortlessly following as I said, "Are you looking for a medal or something?"

He flashed me a mischievous grin, murmuring, "A medal might be overkill, Kate. But, since I'm going to be in here anyway, I think I've at least earned a spot in the bed again."

I scoffed, irritation mingling with the surprise within me, as I considered his cheeky assertion before sharply replying, "First of all, I never asked you to stay in here. You insisted, even though you have your own bed in the lodging house."

But I paused for a moment, as I watched his smirk slowly transform into a genuine smile, his eyes shining in a way that I was having difficulty interpreting. When he reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear, I distractedly continued, "And secondly-why are you so smug right now? I mean-what makes you think you deserve anything from me?"

His eyes remained bright and playful as he murmured, "I've mastered poetry for you, Kate. I think it's the least you can do."

And I found myself almost bursting in indignation, unnerved by the sheer cockiness of his reply as I countered, "I hardly consider your knowledge of poetry masterful, Spot."

He had scoffed himself, holding a hand to his chest in mock offense, which only caused me to further bristle in vexation. But as I continued to regard him, I noted his eyes begin to soften significantly, intently meeting my gaze as he gently reached out and stroked my cheek with his thumb, running the rest of his fingers through my loose hair. I felt utterly astounded at how quickly my irritation dissipated from his mere touch, an interesting yearning steadily pooling in its place. My eyes wandered momentarily to his lips, instinctively biting one of my own in response, but I tensely snapped my gaze back to his, unsure of myself.

He stroked my cheek again, leaning in until his lips were almost to mine. I felt myself inhale, noticing his jaw tightening in what seemed like restraint as he cleared his throat and whispered, "Can we try it for now? I think it might help you rest better."

I nodded slowly in response, our eyes locking for several more intense moments. Then, he patted the side of the bed closest to the wall saying, "Let's get some sleep. It'll be dawn before you know it."

As I scooted to the side, putting my back to the wall and Spot gingerly laid facing me, pulling the blankets over us both, I did indeed feel a much needed calm fall over my body. And with his arm securely draped around my middle, I felt his lips softly graze my forehead as my eyes fluttered in exhaustion.


	21. Chapter 21

I apologize for it taking me so long to post. This is a beast of a chapter and it's super long (which I hope makes up for the 2 months or so it's been since I've updated). Shout out as usual to my beta reader hch428. Could NOT do this without you. I hope you guys enjoy! :-)

Chapter 21

"You alright, doll?"

I jolted somewhat as I felt strong hands gently grasp my hips and a warm, familiar voice tickle the back of my neck, pulling me from my distracted reverie. Groggily, I shook my head, the crowded scene that I had moved to the outskirts of several minutes before finally coming back with much more definition. The main room in the lodging house had been cleared out with the exception of a few tables and chairs lining the walls, and the food I had spent the past several days diligently preparing was slowly emptying from where I had set it out. Now, all the extra work seemed like such a small price to pay as I watched the group of about forty boys happily share in the sweets and the company.

However, the grip on my hips became somewhat firmer as Spot's voice again gently murmured, "Kate, maybe you should take a break. Go upstairs for a while, huh?"

I felt myself bristle instinctively at the command in his tone, irritable that I couldn't even rest for a few minutes on the edges of the crowd without Spot dictating my next moves. But as I continued to stare into the somewhat chaotic mess of people, I found my thoughts again distractedly wandering away, the prior weeks' interactions with Spot himself taking a firm hold of my mind.

The month following my decision to finally allow Spot Conlon's presence back into my bed, and my life for that matter, had passed by with surprising speed. However, although my rest was much improved by the change, I had noted another, deeper type of discomfort slowly developing within me. And upon further introspection into this growing disquiet, I had realized that it mostly had to do with my restricted access to the world outside the lodging house. For from almost the very moment I had been brought into Brooklyn, I had been mandated to remain no more than a few feet away from the old building. And although I was certainly thankful for the warm bed and food being provided to me, I had been slowly, but steadily unraveling from the confinement. So, after my reconciliation of sorts with Spot, I had felt much more comfortable opening up to him about my ever increasing restlessness. However, Spot had been not only resistant to the idea of me getting out somewhat around Brooklyn, but also downright inflexible.

"Absolutely not," Spot had said firmly one evening, a worry flashing in his bright blue eyes as he had stared down at me while I had sat braiding my hair on the bed.

I had glared at him incredulously, slightly irritated at the finality in his tone as I had replied, "Spot, I feel like I'm going insane cooped up in here all the time. I wouldn't need to go far, and if you're so worried then send someone with me, like Rummy or-"

"I already said no, Kate," he had sharply interrupted. And surprisingly my argument had swiftly died on my lips as I had noted the sudden rigidity of his jaw and the glowering fire in his eyes, an undeniable indication that, for him at least, the topic was truly no longer up for any debate.

Yet, having still considered his reaction completely unreasonable, and unsure of a better way to approach the subject with him, I had sought to enlist Rummy and Mary as allies for my cause.

However, Rummy had swiftly shaken his head in response to my request, muttering, "That ain't my place, Kate. And 'sides, if he acted that way with _you_ when you brought it up, he sure as hell ain't gonna take it well from me, 'specially considerin' the fact that this is all goin' on behind his back. No, ma'am. Count me out."

And even Mary had raised her eyebrows at me in warning, stating, "Maybe you should find another way to bring it up to him, Katherine."

"Nothing that I've said warrants the reaction he's given me," I had replied challengingly, defiantly meeting her gaze from my seated position at the dining room table where we both had been polishing the few silver items in her possession.

"While that may be true, there are better ways to mediate things with Thomas than tattling to me, dear."

And, although I had said nothing more in opposition to Mary's suggestions, the push within me to maintain some semblance of control over my own wants had been much too powerful to ignore. Thus, quietly, but purposefully, I had begun to move past the boundaries that had been so harshly set by Spot, utilizing my grocery needs for the upcoming holiday celebration as reason enough to venture beyond the lodging house steps. But I had foolishly underestimated both Spot's constant monitoring of my whereabouts as well as just how serious he had been in demanding that I stay put. And when he had firmly confronted me about my defiance before dawn several days later, I had experienced first hand just how difficult it was to even minutely sway the stubborn Brooklyn leader.

In my tiredness of the early morning, I had all but forgotten my actions from the prior days, and when he had murmured my name softly in my ear I had smiled. But, as I had gingerly rolled to face him, brushing the golden hair off of his brow while whispering his name in response, I had not been sufficiently prepared for his following sentiments. Thus, I had felt immediately flustered as his arm had tightened somewhat possessively around my waist and he had murmured, "You've been pullin' an awful lot of crap behind my back lately, doll."

His eyes had looked worriedly at me as my mind had suddenly snapped into panic. But, unwilling to cower yet again to his controlling behavior, I had impulsively done the only thing I could think of when my muddled brain had failed to find any acceptable verbal challenge to his accusation. I had stared into his eyes momentarily, attempting to mask my internal frenzy while touching my hand gently to his cheek and pushing my lips solidly to his. And after several moments of deepening our kiss, Spot had taken full control of our growing passionate interchange, a move I had hoped he would be unable to resist as he had somewhat firmly run his fingers through my hair and rolled me onto my back. So, when I had arched my body into him, his hands roaming softly under my nightgown and along my waist, I had felt a satisfied smirk play at the corners of my mouth, fully convinced that the thought of finally bedding me had actually bewildered him enough to drop the subject.

But all too suddenly, the foolishness of my assumptions had come crashing down upon me as I had felt my arms forcefully pinned on either side of my head while Spot had straddled me, effectively immobilizing my body and abruptly breaking our kiss to stare down at my surprised face.

"You think I can't see through this weak attempt at distracting me? That I, of all people, can't tell the difference between passion and manipulation? Really?" he had murmured with glittering eyes.

I had scowled at him, fighting against his hold while sharply snapping, "Only because you're so well-versed in the latter. You probably wouldn't know real passion if it hit you square in the nose."

He had chuckled, releasing me as he had pushed himself into a seated position beside me, saying, "Well, I know enough to see through that terrible performance you just gave." He had paused, though, as I had huffed in response, his face taking on a slightly more serious look. And when his blue eyes had quickly surveyed me, I could almost see a flash of hurt pass through them before he had continued, "But really, Kate, why would you think it's okay to walk around Brooklyn by yourself?"

"Why wouldn't it be okay?" I had responded defiantly as I had pushed myself up to face him.

He had sighed, rubbing his tired eyes against the barely lit room before sternly saying, "Kate, we've talked about this-"

"No," I had interrupted irritably, " _You've_ talked about this. You've put your foot down, and I'm not even sure there's a good reason for it."

He had shaken his head saying "It's too early to play this game, doll, so I'm just gonna come out with it." He had paused again momentarily to shoot me another serious look before saying, "There's still way too many unanswered questions. Like, how do you know that whoever took you the first time won't be lookin' for you now? That they aren't just waitin' for you to wander off by yourself? Not to mention this thing you've got with refusin' to contact your folks…"

I had felt my face flush in frustration as I had shaken my head and snapped, "I told you to stop bringing that up."

Spot had rolled his eyes exasperatedly before replying,"Yeah, I know you did, but that doesn't make it any less ridiculous. You could just send them a note-anything really to let them know you're okay..."

But he had fallen silent as he had viewed the pained look on my face. For, this was far from the first time that my parents had been the main topic of discussion between us. In actuality, the subject of my family had been an ongoing quarrel from almost the first week I had been in Brooklyn. However, while Spot was not wrong in considering possible plans to, at the very least, alleviate my family's panic, there were several vital pieces of the puzzle that I had yet to relay to him. And, these elements would very much alter the appropriate course of action in regards to contacting them. But, truthfully there seemed to be no cogent way of explaining to Spot that my family had most likely stopped looking for me weeks before I had even made it to Brooklyn. And, unfortunately, the why to that quandary made even less sense, thus giving me significant pause in regards to communicating any of this with Spot.

But I had snapped my head in Spot's direction as I had heard his deep sigh and quiet response, "Well, the bottom line is that it's not safe for you to go wanderin' around. You need to stay out of sight. At least until I can figure out who took you, and why the hell you were even a target to begin with."

His eyes had seemed distant as he had uttered the last sentiment, a finality again present in his tone. But I had been unable to let the subject drop between us another time as I had said, "How in the world are you going to do that? You might as well lock me in a cage in the basement and throw the key in the river."

Spot had stared passively in my direction, though I had noted a sharp spark of worry ripple through his gaze as he had quietly replied, "Any more information you're able to give sure would be helpful with speedin' that process along, doll."

My stomach had sunk to an impressive new depth at the mere suggestion of thinking about anything involved with my five-week absence. Though truthfully, I had relayed most of what I could remember to him already, with only a few purposeful omissions on my part. But, even if I had thought back to the events and really attempted to sort through all that had transpired, I still was fairly certain I would come up empty-handed as far as any information having to do with my kidnapper was concerned. Suffice to say, it had been a horribly confusing time, with a plethora of gaps that I wasn't sure I would ever be able to completely fill in. And unfortunately for Spot, my captor's identity seemed to be one such permanent blank space. All that remained of the man was the terrifying voice that sporadically haunted my dreams, the figure himself remaining faceless and nameless. And for me, the diminishing memories of my trauma was nothing short of a welcome relief.

I had met Spot's cautious gaze briefly before looking at the ground and murmuring, "I've told you everything I know, Spot."

But before he had been able to comment further on the subject I had quickly continued, "I just think it's important that I get out. Being confined in this apartment all of the time is driving me crazy."

He had stared back at me momentarily shocked by my sudden subject change, but then he had sighed, his jaw tensing somewhat, as he had looked away before replying, "Yeah, well being fuckin' celebate for the past three months hasn't been a walk in the park for me, but I do it anyway because I don't wanna put any extra stress on you."

A slight blush had touched my cheeks, even in spite of the indignation I had felt at his insinuation. I had been well aware that Spot Conlon had suffered quite the diminishment of sexual encounters when he had finally decided to fully set his sights on winning me over. But, in truth, this lack of intimacy was of his own making. Because, for some reason, no matter how much I had attempted to instigate a furthering of our physicality in the time I had been with him, he had been utterly rigid about moving beyond the kisses we had shared. And that was something that I had felt unable to stop myself from softly asserting in the darkness of that early morning.

"It's not like there haven't been opportunities for you to change that. We could have done something about it not ten minutes ago," I had said with a bite to my tone. But as he had peered at my disgruntled facade, I had felt an insecurity seep throughout me and I had added softly, "I mean, don't you want me?"

"That's not why I brought that up, Kate," he had replied, shaking his head somewhat exasperatedly. "I just wanted to say that sometimes we can't do exactly what we want when we want it. So, please, don't change the subject."

"Well don't you?" I had probed a little more firmly, ignoring his request.

His head had snapped back to face me, his eyes glowing in frustration as he had said,"Of course I do!"

I had felt myself taken slightly aback by his forceful reply, yet as his hand had touched my face gently, he had softened his voice before continuing, "But the real question is, do _you_ really want this as it stands right now? Because you're pushing for it, but tomorrow morning will you feel ok that it happened this way? Hell, in an hour?"

"What is that supposed to mean?" I had protested, shooting him a harsh look as I had pulled back from his touch.

But he had simply sighed, putting his hand on top of mine as he had continued matter-of-factly, "Listen, doll, it seems like you've already had plenty of horrible experiences with this kind of thing, and I'm not okay with adding my name to that list." But as I had poised myself to counter back in dissent, he had grasped my chin gently between his thumb and forefinger, tilting my face up to his as he had softly asserted, "I _know_ you. And when I'm with you like that, I want you to be fully aware and okay with the decision you are making."

I had sighed, frustrated with the truth in his words, but also irritable that I had seemingly no say at all in any of the decisions that were presently affecting me. So, as I had opened my mouth to argue once more, Spot had cut me off with his hand, shaking his head and chuckling as he had said, "Trust me, Kate. I know what I'm talking about. And, as far as you gettin' out and about is concerned, please don't make me actually lock you in here with a guard. We both have better things to do with our time."

I remembered feeling a sudden urge to demand he take my comments into consideration and not so swiftly disregard my wants, but before I had opened my mouth to voice these thoughts, he had risen and stretched his arms above his head before moving to get dressed for the day.

However, I was abruptly brought back to the holiday celebration I had helped organize for the boys again, as Spot squeezed my hips even tighter, securing my attention once more while whispering, "Your hands, Kate."

And with a start, I noticed the tight fists my fingers had unexpectedly molded into, the tingling numbness further evidence that they had been like that for some time. I felt Spot's somewhat calloused hands gently unfold my own and then intertwine them into his hold. And as I looked back at him, I realized that I had not seen him for more than a few minutes since the party had started nearly three hours prior. But he had clearly been keeping an eye on me, for the very moment I had backed away from the celebration to lean against the wall in a darker, secluded corner of the room, he had instantly made his way to my side. Yet, the watchful concern for my well-being that was nothing more than an example of his genuine care for me had unfortunately compounded with all of his other overbearing behaviors from the past weeks, thus inciting my less than positive reaction.

As I slowly turned away from his intent stare, I said, "I'm just a little tired. I'll be fine."

But I felt his breath in my ear as he murmured, "Why don't you head up? You set everything up already. I think I can manage to direct the clean up by myself."

I looked at him momentarily again, the sudden realization that his question had been more of an order than a request filling me with a strong urge to argue against it. But I quickly thought better of it, knowing that fighting with him now was sure to end in defeat. Because if there was one thing that I was absolutely certain of, it was that challenging Spot in front of all of his boys would never end well for me. Not to mention all of the unnecessary hostility and tension that my defiance would cause, no matter how quietly it was asserted.

He seemed to read my struggle clearly as he gently directed me out of the main room and to the mouth of the stairwell, saying, "Head up and check on Mary. I'll be there in a little while if you wanna wait up."

I shot him a look of displeasure, his responding smirk only infuriating me more as I turned and climbed up the stairs, making my way into the apartment. And once I closed the door a little more loudly than I intended, I whirled around and was immediately met with Mary's steady gaze as she looked up from the dining room table where she had been reading the evening edition.

But, before she could utter one insightful phrase that would curtail my irritation, I exasperatedly muttered, "I am fully capable of making decisions for myself, so, I'm not at all interested in hearing how Spot Conlon is right about anything at the moment."

Mary's gaze remained fixed on my face as she shrugged, turning back to her newspaper while I stomped into my bedroom and decisively shut the door. And after adorning myself in my nightgown, pacing to and from the window and braiding and re-braiding my hair for what seemed like the thousandth time, I heard the apartment door open and shut softly.

Spot's voice sounded quietly as he said, "What are you still doing up, Mary? It's late."

Mary's soft chuckle filled the room as I heard what must have been her chair scratching backward on the wooden floor while she murmured, "I, unlike Katherine, am not in need of your constant supervision, Thomas. But, at any rate, I _am_ tired, so I'm off to bed."

I heard Spot's somewhat weary "humpf" as he replied, "If she would just listen to me the first time, it wouldn't have to be constant."

I felt my indignation build further at the condescension in his words, Mary's subsequent laugh and assertion of, "Good luck." clearly illustrating her own disbelief that Spot had any real control or authority over me. And as I heard Mary's slow footsteps travel into her bedroom, her door shutting securely behind her, I steeled myself for Spot's immediate entrance.

But when he walked through the threshold of my room, his eyes flitted only momentarily to my disgruntled form standing near the window before he silently busied himself with kicking off his shoes and removing his work clothes. I stared at him quietly, hating the way that the muscles rippling throughout his lean build made me want to throw my irritation to the wind and instead enjoy the fact that it was I, and no one else, who was lucky enough to be wrapped within Spot Conlon's comforting hold every night. But, as he sauntered toward the bed and his gaze again met mine, the self-satisfied smirk that touched his lips was much too infuriating of a reminder that he was well-aware of the effect he was having on me to let it go. And that nearly sent me over the edge.

"This has got to stop, Spot," I found myself muttering as he sat on the side of the bed and faced me.

He fearlessly met my harsh gaze, completely nonplussed by my statement as he said, "And here I was thinking you were enjoying the view."

"You arrogant bastard!" I hissed, feeling the full force of my frustration fill me. "Is everything I say a ridiculous joke to you? Can you not take me seriously for one moment?"

His eye roll sent further pulses of fury throughout me as I continued, "I am sick of you looking down on me like one of your underlings, ordering me about, giving me no say in any of the decisions that directly affect _my_ life. Where do you get off, Spot, really-"

But he quickly interrupted my angry sentiments by firmly countering, "I'm making sure you stay safe. I know the threats that are out there and I know how fragile you still are. So, why can't you just let me make the call on what's best? I have a damn good track record of doin' just that for quite some time now."

"Because I have a mind of my own and I know how to use it!" I nearly shrieked. "Why do you insist on treating me like a small, helpless child?"

Spot scoffed in derision as he swiftly replied, "Because you insist on acting like one. And, to me, this temper tantrum of yours is just more proof that you aren't able to fully appreciate the real dangers out there. So until further notice, do what I say, because I know what the fuck I'm talkin' about."

I glared at him furiously, enraged by his belittlement, but before I had a chance to further my argument any more, Spot stood, firmly taking hold of my forearm and leading me to the bed as he mumbled, "It's late and we've both already had a busy day, so lets get some sleep."

But I forcefully yanked my limb out of his grasp as I said, "I think the only way I'll be able to sleep is if you leave."

At first I thought I glimpsed a hint of disbelief in his eyes, but all too quickly his face hardened at my statement, his gaze glinting with a mixture of fury and hurt as he evenly replied, "Fine. Whatever it takes to get you to fuckin' listen for once."

And in a flash, he re-dressed himself as I glared petulantly at his back, then walked toward the kerosene lamp and turned it off. And without another word, he gruffly exited the room with the click of the door. I only remained still for a moment before I quickly fell into bed and aggressively pulled the covers over myself. But I found that my anger and frustration merely amplified the more I tried to settle myself to sleep, Spot's complete disregard for everything I had said over the last several weeks reigniting my fury over and over again. So, I tossed and turned restlessly throughout the night, finally falling into an uneasy sleep just before dawn.

But all too soon, I found myself abruptly awakened by the sound of the boys walking toward the distribution center, their laughing and talking easily breaking through my slumber. Groggily, I rose, rubbing my tired eyes as I walked to the window to see their ragged-looking forms lit softly by the rising sun. Yet it only took a few moments for me to discern Spot Conlon at the back of the bunch, Rummy solidly at his side. But what made my gaze so easily focus on him over everyone else was not simply the fact that I had long known his form. It more so had to do with the powerful way he consistently carried himself. It was as if he were the leader of some famed ancient army, untouchable and graced by the gods. But even as the thought entered my mind, I could feel my eyes roll into the back of my head, for I quickly reminded myself that Spot was undoubtedly well-aware of how majestically he came across.

Thus, the more I looked toward his retreating form, the more frustration I felt building within my body, the past several weeks of our somewhat contentious dialogue compounding with the visible representation of his large ego. And although I was not above admitting that he had made multiple sound points in defense of his rigid stances as of late, I couldn't help but take issue with his authoritarian approach in relaying them to me. Was this really how he planned on relating to me throughout the rest of our potential relationship? Spewing forth order after order and giving me no other choice but to get in line? Because I knew innately that, for me at least, this would be completely unsustainable. Maybe all of the boys in his brood were incapable of speaking out in dissent, and perhaps the other women he had been with had even swooned a bit at his commanding air, but my nature had never been conducive to such a dynamic. And at that moment, I felt a sudden worry fill me as the thought that Spot Conlon did not know me as well as he had continuously claimed struck me, the past weeks devolvement of our relationship even further evidence to support this theory. Where once he had celebrated my independence, I now found him trying to curtail it at every turn. And all of this only fueled the frightening thought in the back of my head that perhaps Spot Conlon truly couldn't handle what I had to offer, or even worse, he had finally decided that he didn't want to.

But after pinning my hair out of my face and dressing, I took a deep breath in an attempt to suppress some of my fear and frustration before walking out to greet Mary for the day ahead. For though she had undoubtedly heard Spot and my discussion from the previous night, I felt somewhat uncomfortable trying to involve her in the same quarrel for a second time. Especially considering her insistence that my qualms with Spot should be discussed with him alone.

Thus, I went about completing my morning chores diligently, floating silently from one area to the next as my fight with Spot from the night before replayed in my head over and over again. Mary seemed to naturally keep her distance, speaking to me only when I engaged her first, but I couldn't help but notice how her eyes consistently studied me as I worked. Finally, though, after several hours of silence had passed between us, I heard her comment quietly, "You certainly seem to have lost your voice this morning, Katherine."

I looked up from dusting, momentarily startled by her statement. But upon seeing the genuine concern reflecting from her own eyes, I gave her a brief smile, responding evasively, "Just thinking through some things is all."

Yet as I turned back to the task at hand her voice again broke through the silence in the room as she stated, "Like your argument with Thomas last night."

I sighed at Mary, closing my eyes tiredly as I muttered, "Mary, I don't know what you want me to say. You already know I think he's being utterly impossible."

"He's also made quite a few good points," Mary said clearly, her stare unwavering as she watched for my reaction.

"I couldn't agree with you more," I replied, dropping the duster onto the side table as I spun with

my hands on my hips to face her, "But that isn't what I take issue with."

"Hmmm," she murmured, nodding her head in my direction while further studying my assertive stance. "He sometimes needs to be reminded to take other's thoughts into consideration, doesn't he?"

"I don't think reminding him would change anything," I said sharply, the idea of a simple prompt somehow altering Spot Conlon's entrenched inner workings sending a wave of indignation throughout me. "He's been treating me like some mute, vapid debutante for weeks, making all of my decisions for me and not once considering that I might be able to figure things out for myself, or at the very least be a somewhat competent collaborator. I know he's used to being in charge, especially when it comes to his relationships, but I always thought he understood that I cannot function under someone else's complete control. I have no problem deferring to him for the multitude of other decisions he makes on a daily basis, but this-this is my _life_ , Mary."

I stopped for a moment to catch my breath, somewhat winded by the unexpected diatribe that had spilled forth, but when I caught sight of Mary's troubled face, I felt a need to further explain myself as I continued, "Honestly though, Mary, I'm still not convinced that he wants to be with me for who I actually am anyway. I've never been like the girls he usually pursues, and while the idea of something different was probably exciting to him at first, the fact that he's trying to constantly mold me into this obedient counterpart makes me think that I'm the last thing he wants-that this is all just a massive mistake. I mean, I have no idea why he would be interested in someone like me to begin with-I don't take orders well, and I have no problem voicing my own opinions about things, and-"

However, Mary firmly interceded by saying, "Katherine, slow down, child. I can see you spiraling right before my eyes." And after I paused to look toward her, she lowered her voice and said more gently, "Take a deep breath and let me help you reason through some of this."

I stared at Mary with a mixture of frustration and embarrassment, biting my bottom lip and crossing my arms over my chest while I warily listened to her continued thoughts, "I must say, my dear, that I pray for the day to finally come when you will be able to release these horrible ruminations you seem to torment yourself with. But as far as Thomas is concerned, I think you very much undervalue how important you are to him. You are one of the select few that I have seen him allow this close. The fact that he's entertained your questioning at all should show you his intentions. Because, truly, Thomas Conlon is a man that gives neither his concern nor his confidence away lightly."

Yet, I found I could not stop the strong reaction that immediately exploded from me as I passionately countered, "But can't you see, Mary? He doesn't really want to be challenged. He wants someone that easily goes along with everything he says. He wants someone that's delicate and proper. Not some low-bred disgrace whose family has very good reason to keep their distance and whose stomach will forever sport the word whore!"

But only after all of my thoughts had indiscriminately spewed forth, the final word of my emotional statement reverberating about the small living area, did I shut my mouth and check myself. I felt my cheeks burn in humiliation and tears prick at the corners of my eyes as I turned away from Mary's steady stare and quietly muttered, "I'm sorry, Mary. It really wasn't my intention to bombard you with any of this-I'm just-tired."

Yet, after several uncomfortable quiet moments passed between us, she sighed, flashing me another worried look as she murmured, "It really isn't my place to speak for him, Katherine. He's nearly twenty-one and has long been versed in handling his own interpersonal affairs. I do wish he were better at articulating himself, though."

Her last statement was almost whispered, but all I could do in response was turn towards her and nod, still unsettled by my unexpected sentiments and further apprehensive toward my future standing with the Brooklyn leader. And as another silence settled over us, I felt almost unbearably suffocated in the small apartment, my embarrassment and melancholy overpowering all my further attempts at remaining neutral and calm. So, after I quickly finished dusting the rest of the living room, I excused myself to tend to the laundry on the roof, hoping that the open space would steady my senses somewhat.

The air felt fresh as I walked out into the bright sunshine. Though it was still uncomfortably cold, there was something wholly freeing about moving in the exposed space, so I found I didn't notice the harsh chill as I began collecting the dry sheets from the hanging lines. I took a deep breath, allowing myself to fall into the distraction that the mundane chore thankfully offered. But, only a handful of minutes passed before I again found my thoughts wandering to my worrisome situation with Spot, the breeze that forcefully whipped the white sheets into somewhat of a frenzy bringing back the many instances of Spot's handsome face smirking in my direction as he flicked his cigarette into the distance and then aided me in collecting the remainder of the wiley laundry. And perhaps it was the fact that every nook and cranny in the lodging house appeared to radiate his essence, or that the borough itself held no meaning for me outside of being Spot's home, but it seemed impossible for me to escape him, even when he was not physically present.

I looked to the midday sun overhead, knowing that Spot was most likely long done with his morning selling but would probably spend his usual few hours down by the docks before returning to the lodging house for the evening. The sigh that followed this thought was heavy with frustration. For, as much as his haughty presence made me want to throttle him, and as unsure as I was of my consistent standing with him, I couldn't help but feel the emptiness that came with his absence. I wanted to see him, no matter how much I tried to convince myself otherwise, and I found this realization somewhat irksome, if not wholly infuriating.

As I took down the last of the sheets, the noises of the city from below suddenly wafted into my awareness, only succeeding in intensifying my feelings of loneliness. My entire stay in Brooklyn had mostly been confined to Mary's small, two bedroom apartment, and while I had wholly enjoyed my time spent with the unconventional midwife turned proprietor, I couldn't stop myself from yearning for more. Because, truthfully, the only outcome I expected from Spot's seemingly unending investigation was for the mystery to remain unsolved. And how long was I supposed to be confined inside the ever encroaching walls of the lodging house? Until Spot ended up tiring of my presence? Or would he guiltily keep me on, waiting for me to choose to leave of my own accord? Whatever the case, none of the potential scenarios I could think of ended positively for me.

I half-heartedly placed the basket of laundry down by the doorway and wandered to peer over the ledge, secretly hoping that I would spy Spot's form somewhere amidst the bustle. But, unsurprisingly, he was nowhere to be found. However, as I was about to turn back to my task, a small scene nearly a block away from the lodging house suddenly caught my eye. I paused momentarily to study the entryway of a small alley between two brick tenement houses down the road, immediately recognizing the form of one of the older Brooklyn boys and what looked like three other men crowding around him. At first, my instinct was to brush the scene aside as a typical interaction between the Brooklynite, who I felt almost certain was called Boxer, and what looked to be several of his peers. However, upon squinting against the glare of the sun and seeing one of the men aggressively slam Boxer into the sidewall of the alley, I could tell that the interchange was much more contentious than I had originally assumed. I hesitated, watching the episode continue to unfold further, but when I spied the glint of brass knuckles continuously connecting with Boxer's face and abdomen, I realized that he might actually be in real trouble. And when the group disappeared into the darkness beyond the alley opening, Boxer's form dragging limply between two of the men, I found myself haphazardly hoisting my body onto the fire escape and rushing to the street below.

Although Boxer was most definitely several years my senior, and likely very used to taking care of himself, the look of panic that so clearly crossed his tan face in that moment had been much too desperate for me to ignore. He was too far from Spot and the others at the docks to cry for help, and I doubted that he could take on three men by himself. So, I ran to his aid, not once considering that I too would be easily overwhelmed amidst the group. But, as I rounded the corner and swiftly grabbed an empty glass bottle laying on the ground nearby, the reality of the danger I had put myself in came crashing down upon me as I simultaneously broke the bottle atop the head of the man viciously punching Boxer in the ribs. Once the shattered glass settled around the small alley and the brass knuckled man stumbled away from Boxer, the other two's seedy eyes immediately fell to me.

I felt a surge of fear rush through my body as the man not gripping Boxer stepped towards me, saying, "Looky what we got here, Dims. A little bitch takin' unfair swings while our backs is turned."

"Says the man who needs two of his cronies to take on one newsie," I spat, immediately regretting the indignation that so easily countered my terror. But when I saw the man's face crease into an intimidating glare, I habitually took a step back.

He hawked a large wad of phlegm near the toe of my boot as I continued to slowly back away, my eyes catching Boxer's long enough for him to rasp, "Kate," as his face paled to look much like one of the bleached white sheets I had just collected on the lodging house roof.

"Kate, huh," the man holding Boxer, who I assumed was named Dims, muttered with a leering smile on his face as he appraised me for a moment. "Well, waddya know, boys, this ain't just any ol' broad walkin up on us. No-no, this one's special. In fact, she an' I go way back." Dims' eyes glowered at me with an alarming amount of rage as I backed up further, cursing myself for running to the very end of the alley while also desperately trying to scan my memories for how this man would know anything about me.

"And here I was thinkin' we'd only be pounding the livin' shit outa you, Boxer," Dims persisted, clapping the Brooklyn boy on the face and chortling slightly, then pushing him into the arms of the now recovered brass-knuckled man before continuing,"But ya brought me a little reward for after we're done."

I felt my stomach sink as I studied the group before me, Boxer's head hanging down while the blood from his busted lip and nose dripped onto the dirt below, the two other men wholly focused on firmly holding him upright. However, Dims stared unwaveringly at me, his dark eyes reflecting a strange judgemental concentration, as if I had in someway wronged him and now had been brought before him to receive my punishment. I glanced desperately behind me, quickly estimating how far it was to the mouth of the street, but before I could even think about sprinting to freedom, I felt an ironclad grip wrap around my upper arm and yank me harshly toward the far wall of the space.

"Not so fast, dollface," Dims growled as he pushed my back against the brick wall, harshly holding my arms on either side of my head while I struggled against his grip. "Ya see, Boxer here owes me some money, but maybe we can finally call it even after we're done havin' a little fun, huh?" I groaned in frustration as he again slammed me back roughly, easily overpowering my erratic movements.

I turned my face away from him when he suddenly leaned forward and whispered so only I could hear,"Especially since I have you to thank for gettin' me kicked outa the lodging house, you fuckin' bitch."

A shiver travelled down my spine as I felt Dim's breath tickle my neck, a sour, stale smell entering my nostrils and making me even more vigorously push against him. When his words finally settled somewhat more into my awareness, however, I turned my head to stare perplexedly at him, unable to pinpoint how I could have, in fact, been guilty of such a crime. But before I could fully explore the subject, my eyes shot immediately to Boxer's form as I heard his rasping voice exhaustedly assert, "Leave 'er alone, Dims. She don't have anything to do with what I owe ya."

The brawny Brooklynite apologetically met my gaze as Dims' head jerked in Boxer's direction as well. And as our eyes locked for a moment more, a sad understanding seemed to radiate between us, a concession of sorts that communicated just how helpless we were in curtailing whatever might happen next. But my attention was abruptly brought back to Dims who maintained eye contact with Boxer as he adjusted his grip on me, holding both of my wrists in one hand above my head while pulling at the buttons of my blouse and saying, "Shut the fuck up, Boxer. I think I'll be the judge of that."

"Stop it!" I screeched, bucking violently against his roaming hands. But he simply pushed his knee harshly into my hip, immobilizing me painfully while ripping the body of my shirt open and then yanking on the waist of my long skirt. I winced, hearing the fabric tear. And as I watched the garment fall into a heap at my feet, I felt a tremor of fearful defeat pulse through me, my hasty disrobing seeming to more firmly solidify my grim fate in that alley.

Yet, as he reached for my chemise, I shrieked loudly, fighting against the fear pooling within me by screaming, "Get your fucking hands off of me!" and pushing against Dims' hold with all my strength.

He paid me little mind, however, and I groaned in further protest, cursing my smaller frame and weaker limbs as I remained pinned against the wall behind me. So, desperately out of ideas, I spat in Dims' face, grunting in my continued struggle against his steely grip. Yet still, he remained completely undeterred, holding me even more tightly against the wall while he hiked up my chemise and exposed my scarred abdomen. He rested his arm heavily against my neck to further disarm me as he took a moment to look me over, his eyes hungrily taking in the bright red carving across my stomach.

"Well, well well," Dims gleefully stated, almost cackling as he continued,"Looks like the rumors were true after all."

My body shook under Dims' grip, shame burning brightly on my face and churning deeply within my gut as he turned back to look at Boxer and say, "Apparently Conlon's been holdin' out on you boys. But I guess he figured the price on her head'd make anybody think twice about loyalty, even if it meant turnin against the terrifying king of Brooklyn himself."

Dims' eyes then cruelly met mine again as he smirked and whispered, "Shit, I bet he was probly tryin' to find a way to cash you in without havin' to split the spoils, am I right, sweetheart?"

I felt myself gagging in repressed fury as he pushed more of his weight against my throat and body, releasing my arms from his grip to touch the now healed marking on my stomach. Tears of disgust instantly blurred my eyes as I felt his other hand run casually over my partially exposed breast. But, Dims had grossly underestimated my ability to fight back, clearly banking on my feelings of humiliation as being bondage enough to stop me from retaliating. However, with all of my limbs suddenly free, I met his bloodthirsty gaze defiantly and braced my hands against his shoulders, utilizing his taut limbs as leverage to pull my knee aggressively into his groin.

He howled in response, his grip loosening just enough for me to push fully away from his hold. I stumbled haphazardly toward the mouth of the alley, but the skirt bounding my ankles made me fall to my knees allowing Dims to easily overtake me again.

"Fuckin' bitch!" he spat as he yanked me up by my hair and then backhanded me harshly across the face.

Stars danced in front of my eyes momentarily as I dizzily struggled against him, but before I could gather my bearings enough to swing back, I felt his large hand encompass my throat, my back slamming into the nearest wall while my toes dangled just above the ground. I felt my airway constrict as I again attempted to push against his hold, kicking my legs erratically toward him while simultaneously trying to fight the darkness that crept slowly throughout the edges of my vision. But as I felt his other hand reaching underneath my chemise and pulling down on my bloomers, I came to terms with the horrifying fact that all I could do was pray for it to be over as quickly as possible.

Tears poured down my face as the blackness travelled further throughout my view. Yet, somewhere in the depths of my quickly dwindling consciousness, I felt a smile touch my face a I heard Spot's dreamlike voice curse, " _What the fuck is goin' on here_?" but, I simply filed the shout away as a wishful hallucination, a kind image bestowed upon me in my time of need, knowing full well that the actual likelihood of Spot Conlon being anywhere near the alley in which Boxer and I had unfortunately found ourselves was a fantastical possibility at best.

Shockingly, however, I felt air immediately fill my lungs again, the dark edges of my vision melting away as Dims released my neck, whirling my body around so that my back was pulled tightly against his chest and one arm was possessively secured around my waist. I felt dizzy and bewildered, struggling to reestablish my focus long enough to build up another defense against him. Yet, as I adjusted my gaze to the scene in front of me, my head swirled in further bafflement. The alley that had been virtually empty only moments before, now suddenly held a slew of Brooklyn newsies. I turned my head to the side, seeing Boxer limping to freedom with the aid of a few Brooklynites while Dims' cronies lay crumpled in a corner surrounded by some of Spot's other boys.

"Is there a fuckin' reason you've got your hands on my girl, Dims?"

The cold voice that reverberated over the commotion made me start as my gaze fell on Spot Conlon's eerily still form. It was almost as if he had appeared out of thin air, his body suddenly separating itself from the throng of rowdy boys only a few feet in front of me. I felt a small pulse of relief flow through me at his presence, but his solid stance and narrowed eyes didn't once flicker toward me. Instead they remained unwaveringly directed at Dims, an immediate hush falling over the alley as the other Brooklynites looked warily toward their leader in silent wait for anything he might need.

I felt Dims tighten his hold on me and growl, "This whore ain't no more yours than any of the other ones you string along, Conlon."

And I couldn't help but cry out as I felt him yank my hair back painfully, severing my comforting view of Spot while his free hand aggressively pulled up my chemise, again exposing my abdomen.

I felt tears drip down my already wet face as Dims' haughty voice continued, "She's even got someone else's fingerprints all over her to prove it."

And in the wake of Dims' announcement, I felt strangely fortunate that I could not see the expressions of any of the boys standing in front of me, especially Spot. The collective inhale I heard echo throughout the alley was enough of a response to fill my body with an immobilizing amount of shame, the deafening silence that followed only convincing me of the feeling's true necessity.

But after several more painful moments of quiet exposure, Spot's frighteningly calm voice filled the void as he stated, "Fingerprints or not, she's mine if I say she is, you fuckin' waste of space."

Dims' grip loosened somewhat on my hair as he scoffed loudly in response to Spot's comment, his other hand absentmindedly allowing my chemise to fall back over my body. And as my head dropped forward again, my eyes immediately focused on Spot's face, somewhat surprised by his response, but nonetheless thankful. His steely blue gaze, however, continued to focus only on Dims, a terrifying fury viscerally radiating from his body.

Yet, I immediately found that Spot's phrase of support aided me in more ways than one. Dims' momentary distraction gave me just enough leeway to forcefully push back. And without further hesitation, I aggressively ground the heel of my boot into Dims' foot while jabbing my elbow quickly into his stomach. The satisfying yelp of pain that he emitted almost brought a smile to my face as his arms fully released me and I flew out of his reach.

My body shook with an overflow of adrenaline as I stumbled forward, jolting somewhat when I felt another pair of strong arms gather me up and begin to whisk me swiftly away from the scene. I pushed against their hold, unable to stop the aggressive fight response that continued to surge throughout me, but when I heard Rummy's deep voice whisper, "Kate, I gotcha. It's okay." I felt my panic subside somewhat. When Rummy finally led me out of the alley and we faced the busy, sunny street together, I felt my legs nearly collapse from underneath me while I did my best to stifle the strong sobs that forced their way out of my mouth. Rummy's arms merely tightened around me as he pulled my face into his chest, acting somewhat as a protective barrier that allowed me to experience my pain privately and without further consequence. And although I could not bring myself to speak in the midst of my tears, I had a feeling Rummy knew how very grateful I was for him, especially in that moment.

"Oy, Rummy, give 'er this, huh," I heard a familiar voice mutter, Rummy's affirmative grunt in response causing me to cautiously look up into the bruised and bloody face of Boxer. Our eyes briefly met for a second time that afternoon, another wordless connection passing between us. But I felt momentarily confused as I saw him pull his wrinkled shirt off of his back and hold it out to me.

"So's you can cover up, doll," he said, nodding toward my body. And all I could do was offer him a watery smile in response, my cheeks burning hotly in embarrassment as I remembered my shocking state of undress. I took his shirt into my shaking hands and nodded in appreciation while he began limping away with the help of a few of the other boys who surprisingly smiled kindly toward me as they walked by. And as I watched him limp away, the previous stressful minutes simultaneously flashing through my mind, I guiltily realized that I had run in wanting to save him, yet all I had succeeded in doing was making victims of us both.

"We gotta get you back to the apartment, doll," Rummy said quietly, interjecting into my thoughts as he helped me don Boxer's large shirt that, thankfully, was big enough to fall past my knees. But before Rummy's strong arms could again direct me away from the alley, I whipped my head alarmingly around as I heard Dims shout, "You an' Kelly can't protect her for forever, Spot! She's worth a pretty penny and don't think that I'm the only one outa all these assholes here desperate enough to stab you in the back to collect. Eventually, you and Kelly's backs'll both be turned for long enough that someone'll sweep 'er up before you can say the word 'whore'."

In the chaos of my escape, I had completely overlooked the fact that Spot had not followed me out. And as I surveyed the small alley behind me, it appeared that most of the boys had chosen to stay as well, though they all kept a fair distance between themselves and Spot, encircling the altercation but not making any moves to jump in.

Spot, who now held Dims pinned against the same wall I had been backed into only minutes before, grabbed his collar and slammed him forcefully into the bricks as he growled, "She is _mine_! No one, _no one_ touches her without my say so. And if you so much as look at her again, I will make sure that the next place anybody sees your pathetic mug is washed up dead on the banks of the East River! You hear me, Dims? Do you fucking hear me? _I will kill you_!"

Spot's harsh threats quickly amplified into alarming bellows as I saw his fists pummel into Dims' face and body again and again. His hat flew off his head in the midst of his erratic movements, and Dims eventually fell with a thud on the the ground.

I stared wide-eyed toward Spot, both mesmerized and terrified of this violent showing that I had never been privy to before. He vigorously kicked Dims' lifeless body repeatedly, the rest of his boys merely giving him more space to move but not once attempting to intervene.

However, I felt Rummy's arms firmly pull my stunned body away from the scene, gently guiding me in the direction of the lodging house. And because I was still physically shaken myself, I didn't fight against him, allowing him to walk me down the street and up the stairs to Spot's attic room while I floated silently along beside him.

But as he settled me gently on the floor and moved toward the door, muttering, "Lemme go get some stuff to clean ya up, Kate," my mind suddenly snapped back into focus.

"Wait-Rummy-he couldn't have-did he? Kill him, I mean? And, Boxer-I was just trying to-to help him-I didn't know-I didn't think-oh God-did he-did he do it? Oh God-" I sputtered, my whole body beginning to tremor violently as the full weight of all that had just transpired crashed down indiscriminately upon me.

"Well, if Spot did, it ain't like Dims didn't ask for it, doll," Rummy said matter-of-factly as he stopped in the doorway to look back at me. "But, lucky for Dims, I'm pretty sure Spot'll just send 'im on his way with this as his final warning. And as for you helpin', well," Rummy released a heavy sigh before continuing, "I'm just glad me and a few of the other boys was headin' back to the lodging house right then. We were able to break it up an' get Spot down there before...before anything worse coulda happened."

He stared meaningfully at me as I shakily tugged Boxer's shirt more securely around my body, then he worriedly said, "Hold tight, kid, I'll be right back."

And after Rummy secured the door behind him, I let my head fall back against the wooden wall, fresh tears falling down my face as I realized how undeniably idiotic my most recent actions had been. And upon hearing Dims' voice intrude into my already agonizing self reproach, I clenched my eyes shut, hoping that would be enough to mute him.

" _I bet he was probly tryin' to find a way to cash you in without havin' to split the spoils."_

I felt a pitiful whimper escape my lips at the sentiment, fearful and confused as I remembered more of Dims' words from the alley. A price on my head? From who? And why? And above all else, had Spot known this whole fucking time without telling me?

"Ugh," I groaned emotionally, overwhelmed with all of the questions that ceaselessly ran through my mind, only serving as terrifying complements to the disturbing images of Dims' leering eyes and cruel smirk.

Why hadn't Spot told me?

And almost as if thinking his name had somehow cued his presence, I jerked my attention toward the door as it creaked slowly open, revealing Spot's disheveled form in the entryway, his bright blue eyes radiating worry as they locked onto mine.

"Kate," he said as he quickly ambled over to kneel in front of me, his panicked scan of my body causing me to finally look myself over as well.

My stockings were ripped and bloody at my knees, most likely from the fall I had sustained when I had first attempted to escape from Dims' grip, but beyond the scrapes on my hands and the mental trauma I had undergone, it looked as though I had made it out mostly unscathed. However, upon looking up into Spot's quickly darkening face and feeling his hands brush gently over my neck, I knew that Dims' fingerprints had bruised like tattoos into my skin as well. More tears dripped down my face as I felt my body shake in shame, and I pulled Boxer's shirt even more tightly about me. .

"What the hell were you even doing there, Kate?" Spot said quietly. And as I met his gaze once more, I was surprised to see a solemn anger traveling throughout his blue eyes, replacing the concern that had been there moments before.

I turned my head away from his turbulent stare somewhat dismayed at his sudden change in tone as I shakily muttered, "I was taking down the laundry and I saw him-Boxer-that he was in trouble." I stopped as I saw Spot's hands clench at his side, knowing that he was so far unimpressed by my explanation, but still feeling a need to share my reasoning I hurriedly continued, "I-I was just trying to help, Spot-I was trying to help Boxer."

I watched one of his hands reach up and grasp my chin somewhat firmly, pulling my eyes back to his as he said lowly, "You had no business being there, and you know it. Dammit, Kate."

And as his face creased further in anger, I felt more tears of shame form in my wide eyes. I jolted a bit when he tightened his hold on my face, harshly glaring at me and growling, "I specifically told you to not leave this lodging house, probably a hundred fucking times at this point."

I nodded slowly, staring at him to try and search his eyes for any type of understanding, but they merely reflected harshly back at me, icy and distant.

"Spot," I started quietly somewhat fearful of the rage I could feel emanating from his body, but he shook his head, releasing my face and standing swiftly to begin pacing erratically back and forth in front of me.

"Why, Kate?" he said suddenly, looking exasperatedly down at me as he halted his stressful steps. "Why are so you fuckin' _insistent_ on doin' the opposite of what I say? It wasn't a tall order I was givin' you-just stay in the lodging house-out of sight! That's it! And you still couldn't do it."

His hurtful phrasing began to force a steeliness to build within my own body as I wiped the tears from my face and stood, challenging him while responding coldly, "Why didn't you tell me about any of this? I deserved to know, Spot. You should have told me what was going on."

His eyes narrowed as I spoke, and he scoffed at my last phrase, angrily sputtering, "Should have told you? Why in the fuck should I have told you anything? Why would I need to?"

I felt a flash of anger fill my body at his condescension as I hissed, "Well, it sounds like it must be true then-what Dims said about you keeping me here until you could trade me in yourself-"

But he immediately cut me off with a roar that made me step back in shock as he nearly shouted, "You've got to be _fucking_ kidding me! After all this time, and you think I'd do something like that? Something as horrible and just-downright _wrong_ as that?"

"Why not?" I spat back, his anger and spite bringing out similar emotions within me as I continued, "You were keeping all of this from me for who knows how long. If anything, it only makes what Dims said sound more like the truth."

His face turned a frightening shade of red as he glared at me in warning, a deadly calm taking over his voice as he said, "So you are more willing to listen to Dims than me now? Why don't you stop being ridiculous for just a minute and maybe consider what might have actually been going on. I was getting to the bottom of this-going to the source-"

"Without telling me a goddamned thing!" I nearly screeched, his petty insults nearly sending me over the edge.

But even though his eyes widened momentarily with unbridled rage, his voice became even more alarmingly calm as he stated, "And as you've proven yet again today, for good fucking reason. You are out of control, Kate. I know your parents let you make a fool of yourself, running around with no supervision for all these years, but that isn't the way the world usually works. And it's high time you understood that and started acting accordingly."

His words cut through me harshly, a hollowness replacing my prior rage as I glared coldly at him, replying in warning, "Don't you dare bring up my parents. Don't you dare. You know _nothing_ about them or our life. My life."

Spot nearly cackled, a detached cruelty drenching his tone as he harshly spat, "Your life, huh? Don't you think it was a little strange that they didn't care about where you went and who you were with? About your reputation or what little was left of it? I mean, shit, Kate, if they had given a damn about _your_ life, wouldn't they have found you before five fucking weeks had passed? Or maybe monitored you well enough so that no one would've taken you in the first place?"

And before I knew what I was doing, I felt a sharp fury fill me, carrying me to stand directly in front of Spot's tall, lean body and guiding my hand to harshly slap him across the face. He looked shocked as he raised his own fingers to touch the red mark I had left on the side of his cheek.

"You repulsive bastard!" I shrieked, no longer in control of my movements or words as the heady rage took over me. "So here it finally is-you're finally admitting that you're embarrassed by me, that you've always been embarrassed by me!"

I found myself sputtering as I felt a strong grip pulling me out of Spot's face, Rummy's stern voice saying, "Come on, Kate. Calm down-"

"No!" I screamed, fighting against Rummy to make another run at Spot as I continued, "I knew this would happen-that there would be no way that you would ever be able to actually care about-or commit yourself to anyone, especially me! It makes my blood boil that my reputation has to be utterly unmarked while you can fuck the whole female population of New York without a shred of disrespect falling on you. This is what always happens and it's so unimaginably unfair-that monsters like you get to dictate women's worth-that _you_ can dictate _my_ worth!"

Spots face surprisingly paled at my words as he stood stock still across the room from me, his eyes shockingly unreadable. But before he could open his mouth to respond to me, Rummy quickly asserted, "I've got this, Conlon. Just go."

And without another look in my direction, Spot marched out of his room, his boots stomping on the wooden landing and then up the stairs to the roof, leaving me floundering in the wake of the complete emotional explosion that had just taken place. So, knowing nothing better to do, I crumpled onto the floor, easily slipping out of Rummy's grasp and allowed myself to weep.

Several minutes passed as I grappled with regaining control of myself again, but Rummy patiently kept his distance, allowing me the time I needed to better contain my reckless emotions before he attempted to intervene. And as my breathing again normalized and I lifted my face to meet Rummy's calm stare, he nodded at me, silently bringing the pitcher of water and rags to settle in next to me.

"Thank you, Rummy. For everything, but I can take it from here," I said hoarsely, offering him a small smile of gratitude as I moved the supplies closer to me.

His brown eyes stared at me momentarily, almost as if he was, himself, grappling with heavy, unspoken emotions, but as he stood to leave, he sighed and turned to face me, saying slowly, "Ya, know, Kate, you're a lot tougher than Spot sometimes gives ya credit for."

My eyes widened in apprehension, as I felt myself nodding, unsure of where his statement was leading, but before I could say anything about it, he quickly continued, "But, Spot, well, he's a lot more sensitive than he lets on. I mean, it ain't that hard to hurt 'im if ya know how. An' you've got all his buttons at the tips of your fingers without even realizin' it. You always have."

He paused, seeming to carefully consider his next words before murmuring, "He had a hard upbringin' an' I know he says stupid shit he don't mean and that he's stubborn as hell, but," Rummy sighed before continuing, "Well, shit-he loves you, Kate, even if he ain't ready to admit it, and he's just doin' the best he can to make this work. So I guess what I'm tryin' to say is-well-just, give him a break, huh?"

I stared at Rummy's face noticing the genuine concern painted across it, and I paused for several moments to let his words truly marinate in a meaningful way within me. But before I could open my mouth to give him any kind of response, he nodded awkwardly at me, whispering, "Just talk to 'im, alright?" and then moved quickly out of the door and back down the stairs to the bunkroom.

I assumed that Rummy had probably shared more than he had wanted to, and that his statements had been closer to an educated guess than actual things that Spot had said to him, but I still found myself moved by his thoughts. Mostly because, save for Mary, Rummy knew more about Spot Conlon than anyone else, and he cared a great deal for the Brooklyn leader. From the multitude of conversations I had engaged Rummy in since coming to Brooklyn, it was readily apparent to me that he not only respected Spot, but also considered him, in some ways, to be like a brother. So, I knew that although Rummy had not been too keen on sharing these secret insights that bordered on disloyalty with me, he also saw Spot hurting and knew exactly how to help him.

And after about a half hour of cleaning up my cuts and making myself look slightly more presentable, I decided that I would take heed of what Rummy had uncomfortably imparted to me and see if I could perhaps soothe some of the wounds I had brutally laid into Spot while hopefully not causing any further damage.

As I climbed up onto the roof, noting the sun setting in the distance, I saw Spot leaning against the far ledge, absentmindedly smoking a cigarette. His eyes were distant, and his mouth was drawn into a tight line as I quietly approached him, watching his bronze hair glint handsomely in the dying light.

"I'm sorry," I murmured as I came to stand a few feet behind, looking unwaveringly at his lean form. But he made no move to respond or even to signal that he had heard me, merely taking another drag from his cigarette and blowing the smoke into the gentle breeze surrounding us. My eyes followed the trail of his foggy exhale, dejected somewhat at his lack of response.

"Why can't you just trust me?"

I snapped my eyes back to his form, relieved that he had turned to lean his back against the ledge and face me as I replied honestly, "Because I'm scared to trust anyone."

His eyes squinted at me and he nodded, seeming unsurprised by my answer as he took another hefty inhale from his cigarette.

But I found myself pushing forward with my thoughts, even in spite of his reserved mood, saying, "You know, we aren't that dissimilar, you and I. Neither of us like to be controlled and neither of us like to be left in the dark about things."

He stared unblinkingly at me, his blue eyes stern but not harsh as he responded, "I was protecting you."

"I know," I said gently, taking a step closer to him. "But, there are ways you can protect me without controlling me, Spot. I don't want you to decide my every move for me. I don't need you to."

His eyes flashed with a multitude of conflicting emotions, and as he turned back again to look toward the setting sun he said, "Maybe I'm just too much of a monster to be able to do that, Kate. Maybe your best bet is stayin' as far away from me as possible."

I felt my stance deflate slightly, the spurn from his movements and his words making me burn with hurt. Yet, as I more fully digested his sentiments, I realized that his first thought had clearly been spoken to strike back at me for my earlier commentary, but his second one had sounded much more sincere, and perhaps even legitimately distraught.

I shakily took another step forward as his back remained turned toward me, saying, "There's a difference between being controlling and being protective, you know. They may come out looking the same on the surface, but what's really important is the motivations going on underneath." I paused as I noticed his head turn towards me, his eyes radiating in attentiveness as I continued softly, "And I'm fairly certain you don't act like this so you can mercilessly bend everyone to your will. I think you do it so that you really can keep people safe."

And surprisingly, I noticed a small smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he muttered, "So, I'm overbearing then?"

I felt my own smile slowly growing on my lips as I whispered, "Very much so."

He turned his body to face me again, his eyes glittering slightly with a combination of amusement and curiosity as he replied, "Is that somethin' you think you can deal with in the long run?"

I stared directly into his eyes as I quickly quipped back, "If you can handle me fighting back when the occasion calls for it."

He chuckled as he said,"Alright, it's a deal then," his stance visibly relaxing. And I could almost hear the first, very thick layer of ice crumbling between us.

I walked over to stand next to him, leaning against the ledge myself as I softly queried, "Why didn't you tell me, Spot?"

I felt his hand feather against my cheek and then gently trace down my neck as he met my gaze and worriedly replied, "I couldn't let you get taken away again, Kate."

I sighed, shaking my head as I stated firmly, "Spot, I would have been much more willing to listen to you if you had told me what was actually going on. I mean, don't you see that by keeping me in the dark about all of this, you actually handicapped me more? That by not arming me with that knowledge, you were, in fact, creating a scenario where I was much more likely _to_ be taken again?"

He stared quietly at me for several moments, seeming to be uncomfortably considering my thoughts as he took another drag from his cigarette. But as the seconds continued to pass silently between us, I couldn't help myself from probing him a little more forcefully, saying, "Spot, I think I'm making-"

"That wasn't what I meant," he suddenly interjected over me, looking pointedly into my eyes.

I looked perplexingly back at him, mumbling, "What?"

He sighed heavily, flicking his cigarette off the roof and turning fully towards me as he elaborated slowly, "I didn't mean physically taken away."

"Then what did you mean?" I asked staring intently at him.

He groaned slightly, hesitating for several more moments before finally muttering, "You were finally sleeping through the night- and smiling- and finally...being you." He stopped to stare at me thoughtfully before continuing, "I couldn't tell you something that could take that away-take _you_ away from me again."

He severed our eye contact as I considered his words carefully, noting the struggle with which he delivered them. And I realized suddenly that he was, in fact, baring himself to me in the only way he knew how-by exposing a difficult and sensitive emotion that he would have preferred to deny the existence of all together. But I felt my own insecurities cloud this revelation as I queried, "You mean, you want me...with you?"

"Of course I do!" he said emotionally, snapping his gaze fiercely back to mine as if my question were preposterous. "C'mon, Kate, you know that already."

"But I don't," I countered sincerely, attempting to unmask all of the insecurities I had struggled with for years at that point so that he could see my genuineness. "Spot, I _need_ you to say what you actually mean."

His bright blue eyes bore into mine intensely as I held my breath waiting for him to respond. I felt equally exposed in that moment, terrified that my demands would yield hurtful and unwanted answers.

But he gently cupped my face, his whisper barely audible as he murmured, "I want you to be mine."

"Only me?" I mumbled emotionally back, searching his eyes for the truth.

"Yes."

And, perhaps it was his sincerity, or the way his hair fell into his eyes, but I suddenly felt a strong urge fill me, causing me to put my hand behind his neck and pull his mouth to mine.

However, he startlingly broke apart from me only seconds after I had initiated our kiss, causing me to whimper in fear. But he simply grasped my face with both his hands, saying firmly, "I need to hear you say the words-out loud."

His blue eyes desperately stared into mine, and I realized the true depth of his request.

"I'm yours, Thomas Conlon."

Yet, before I fully finished saying the last syllable of his name, he aggressively pushed his mouth to mine again, grasping my body firmly to his. I wrapped my arms around his neck in response, standing on my toes to deepen our kiss. And it seemed that, despite the mess that surrounded us and the multitude of other questions that still needed addressing, we could find a safe space within one anothers hold. All of my prior insecurities, both past and present, began to melt away as he ran his fingers gently through my hair, kissing my nose, my eyelids, my cheeks, and then back to my lips, his touches purposeful but tender, his mouth soft but possessive. And the world seemed to stand still, if just for a night as we lost ourselves within each others embrace, solidifying what would later be our only defense against the distant storms we had yet to notice thundering grimly beyond the horizon.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Spot had always known on some conscious level that continually seeking out Katherine Moore throughout her two-year long relationship with Jack Kelly had been a somewhat risky, if not wholly stupid idea. But he had still gone through with it anyway, time and again. Seeing her bright green eyes bare into his challengingly and hearing her melodic voice softly relay her genuine thoughts and feelings had not only become a consistent requisite for his weekly itinerary, but had also immediately overruled any guilt he had initially felt in regards to Jack's discomfort. And this had been a completely unexpected development as far as his original intentions with Kate were concerned. She had presented herself as a somewhat perplexing creature that had seemed to require a more formal investigation from Spot, but he had expected that upon satisfying these lingering curiosities, he would come to think nothing more about her. Jack, on the other hand, had been a close friend of Spot's for years, not to mention a staunch supporter of his rule over Brooklyn from the beginning, so this sudden reordering of his priorities had appeared to be nothing short of insanity. And for the first few months of his time spent with Kate, Spot had grappled relentlessly with what reasoning, if any, had led him to stand so firmly on this sudden amendment of precedence.

He had considered that it, in part, must have involved his own stubborn insistence of self determination. That he, Spot Conlon, leader of the infamous Brooklyn newsboys, should be able to do whatever he damn well pleased whenever he damn well felt like it. So of course he had been inherently resistant to the idea of Kate being, in any way, off limits to him. But upon furthering this line of thinking, he had slowly realized that accepting this very same unspoken mandate before, when Jack had been with Sarah Jacobs, had never inspired even an inkling of ethical dissention. And after the first several planned encounters he had had with Kate in the streets of Manhattan, he had known that his reasons were far more complicated than he had initially considered.

Kate had been inexplicably engaging, so much so that in their time together, he had found himself not only focusing on her womanly figure and the strangely enticing way that she bit her bottom lip, but also the actual sentiments she was imparting to him. No other woman had interested him in such a way before, even the ones that he had regarded as important enough to spend time and effort pursuing. And perhaps this had to do with the fact that he had finally been forced into a position where his main goal could not be to immediately smooze Kate into bed with him. But he soon found that even beyond the excitement this self-imposed restraint incited, there had been something more than just the thrill of the chase continually bringing him back to Kate's intriguing company.

To be sure, Spot had, as a rule, never pursued a woman with even the slightest whisper of commitment to another man before. Because, if there was one thing he despised more than anything else, it was willful deceit. This was not to say, however, that he had ever had any delusions about the true nature of his character. While he had been unfailingly honest with the girls he had been with, ensuring that they knew his intentions would never grow into any sort of lasting investment, he had also easily been able to wash his hands of the guilt directed at him if his warnings went unheeded. So, benevolent gentleman he had never been, but "adulterer" had also not been an identity that he had played any part in acquiring either. And, truthfully, he had never run into a situation where he had been confronted with this moral dilemma before his time spent with Katherine Moore. Thus, even though he had felt himself physically pulled to Kate almost instantly, he _had_ done everything in his power to restrain the natural urges within him, for she had been Jack's after all. But Kate-Kate had never fit nicely into any of his usual schemas, and he had found himself, for some reason, thoughtlessly loosening his once very strict standards with surprising speed after starting a habitual familiarity with her.

Yet, if he had to pinpoint an exact interaction that had been the commencement of his slow but steady deviation from this norm with women, he didn't have to look far. He had easily been able to work his way back and settle on what had seemed like a completely innocuous conversation with Kate at the time. But now, years past the incident, he could clearly see just how affected he had been by Kate's formidable presence, even at the start. He had never before in his life felt so stirred by a woman's company, and he had immediately, almost viscerally, responded to the clarity and warmth her companionship offered by being unable to cease regularly seeking her out.

So, after having unintentionally spent the majority of his afternoon selling hours somewhat mesmerized by Kate the first day he had managed to track her down by herself, he had felt a strong pull for a similar interaction to take place again. And, when not three days had passed, he had found himself wandering back into Manhattan, slowly meandering throughout the borough until he had thankfully spotted her by the same tree they had sat under on their previous encounter. He had stared at her momentarily, smiling to himself as he had watched her pick at a piece of bread while also flipping slowly through a thick book. Her dark hair had been haphazardly pulled back, but several long pieces had fallen around her peaceful face, her eyes bright and focused. When a breeze had gently blown across the park, she had picked her head up and smiled lightly, almost making her look like she belonged in a famous painting, hanging in some rich family's house.

However, when he had begun walking toward her, her eyes had snapped up to meet his, confusion radiating throughout her gaze. But he had been pleased to hear her playful quip of, "For you to be passing through again so soon, you must either be incredibly bored, or this park must be on the way to something incredibly important."

He had smirked at her perceptive comment as he had sat on the ground beside her, saying genially, "What can I say? Sometimes you just get a hankerin' to start walking and see where it leads you. I feel like you of all people must understand that."

She had squinted at him, a small smile touching her lips as she had closed her book and turned toward him, replying, "I usually have mandatory destinations on my walks, but I can definitely see the appeal. Though, I wouldn't have picked midday in the summer heat as the ideal time to wander around aimlessly." She had paused for a moment, studying his face before smirking and continuing, "I'm more convinced that Brooklyn must just be one of the dullest places to live."

He had shaken his head at her mild poke, asserting facetiously, "Now don't go shootin' your mouth off like that about my territory. There's nothin better than a walk through Battery Park or a lazy day by the river. It's just, once I'm done sellin' for the day, there ain't a whole lot else ta do except for walk."

"Yet here you are, in Manhattan and not there," she had quickly replied. But when he had momentarily turned his attention to rolling and lighting a cigarette, he had been surprised to look back up into a pair of worried green eyes staring intently toward him as he had taken his first puff.

"I've never been to Brooklyn, though, so I'll have to take your word for it, I suppose," she had added, almost apologetically in response to his silence.

Yet, he had flashed her a candid smile, hoping to relay the continued good-naturedness of their exchange by saying, "I'll have to show you around sometime and hopefully prove you wrong."

And thankfully she had seemed to immediately pick up on his agreeable tone as she had continued "Honestly, the only thing I _do_ know about Brooklyn is that it's home to the most fearsome newsies in all of New York. So frightening in fact, that I hear they even made Joseph Pulitzer cower once."

"So I see Jack's told you all about the strike then, huh?" Spot had said with a small laugh in response to her playful tone. However, he had paused for several moments, memories of the event suddenly flooding forth, before he had added almost to himself, "You know, it's strange to think that not even a year and a half ago, we were kings-fightin' against Pulitzer and makin' a name for ourselves. Now all that's long over, and it ain't even worth mentionin' anymore."

He had felt bewilderment fill him as his frank addition had sunk in more fully, simultaneously realizing with a frown that he had given Kate an unintended glimpse into something deeper than his surface sentiments. But Kate had seemed to pick up on the subtle shift in his mood almost immediately, and had treaded lightly forward as she had genially responded, "I haven't been living under a rock for the last two years, Spot. I followed the strike from the beginning, well before I knew anything about Jack. It was all my parents and neighbors could talk about for weeks." Spot had looked at her curiously, as she had continued, "But as far as it not being important anymore, I don't think that it's ever going to be a topic not worth discussing. I mean, I didn't give Jack the time of day until I found out that he was actually telling somewhat of the truth about the part he had played in the whole affair."

"Somewhat of the truth?" Spot hadn't been able to stop himself from asking with a smile, strangely relieved that, from the way her face paled, she had appeared to also have shared more than she had intended to.

But as a blush rose into her cheeks, she had quickly elaborated, "I guess he overrepresented the part he played a bit. Don't get me wrong-Jack's a great orator, but he definitely didn't single-handedly turn the tides. Everyone knows that David Jacobs was the idea man and that without your backing, he wouldn't have gotten anywhere."

"Yeah, well the part I played was pretty small compared to Jack and David. I mean, any brute with half a brain can intimidate and threaten their way' til the rest fall in line," Spot had responded honestly, shocked again at not only his candid statement, but also his restraint from indulging in the usual boastful rendition he had always given of the tale. However, from Kate's prior statement about Jack's exaggerations, he had known innately that she would most likely easily see through any cocky narration he might have relayed anyway.

"It would really surprise me if that were the case," Kate had said as she had squinted thoughtfully at him. "You aren't really the brutish sort. And from what I can tell, your boys and the other boroughs don't look up to you just because they're scared of what will happen if they stopped."

He had bristled somewhat at her implication, stating defensively, "Maybe I don't look so tough to you right now, but I've proven myself time and again in any fight." Though, almost the instant the words had left his mouth, he had wished they hadn't. He had winced at the childishness of his bravado and had known that, if anything, it had only succeeded in making him look foolish.

Kate had merely shrugged, holding her hands up in surrender while meeting his eyes kindly as she had replied, "Believe me, I'm well aware of how intimidating you are. I thought I was in trouble the first time you snuck up on me out here." Spot had been unable to stifle his laughter, marveling somewhat at how easily she had seemed to resolve the tension he had created between them. But with a more serious glance in his direction she had continued, "All I'm saying is that fear only goes so far. I mean, look at the famed tyrants of old-Ghengis Khan, Caligula, Ivan the Terrible-they always ended up falling in the end. I'm just not convinced that there isn't something more to your leadership. Respect is temporarily earned through intimidation, but I think you know that the kind of sway you carry is longer lasting than that."

She had smiled, her eyes lighting up with a beautiful mixture of intrigue and warmth as she had finished her statement. And in that moment, as he had stared at her in complete amazement, he had felt something-something that, at the time, had made him exceedingly uncomfortable, but had otherwise been quickly buried and forgotten. Now, however, thinking back onto the small snippet of dialogue between them all those years ago, he was so much more aware of what had actually been going on inside of his clenching chest and tight stomach. She had earnestly reached into him, seeing so clearly past all of the other distractions he had thickly adorned about himself, and with that one statement had captured his essence-something that, if he were being honest with himself, he had not even fully realized until just recently. She had seen him, but not just what he had already made himself into, not just what every other person he had met could also see-no, something much more abstract and deeper than that. She had looked into his eyes on their second meeting in that park, smiling, and had easily dissected all of the things that he could be, all of the things that he _needed_ to be. And that had been the most freeing experience in all of his life up to that point, which was why he had, in turn, become utterly and unapologetically hooked on whatever else Katherine Moore had been willing to offer.

But, as much as he had tried to keep his increasingly frequent visits with Kate off the radar in the beginning, both Rummy and Mary had easily noticed the changes that had taken place in him as his relationship with Kate had grown.

Mary, during one of their Sunday night dinners several months after his meetings with Kate had begun, had slyly mentioned, "I wonder, Thomas, have you also noticed the strange additions that keep popping up in my library as of late?"

Spot had stared stoically back at her, recognizing her statement immediately as the probing investigation that it was, while responding, "Maybe one of the boys left some of their books in here by accident."

But, Mary, always the formidable opponent had quickly replied, "Perhaps I should ask around myself to see if that's actually the case. Whoever purchased a used copy of the history of Roman emperors would certainly want it back, I'd think."

Spot had sighed irritably, shooting a frustrated glare in Mary's direction as she had smiled and said, "I thought so."

However, Rummy's reaction to Spot's steadily growing investment in Kate had been much less congenial. Upon finding out that Spot had ordered one of his younger birds to tail her regularly, Rummy had quietly confronted him in his attic room after most of the boys had already begun heading to Manhattan for an upcoming party.

"What kinda game are you playin' at, Conlon? Flit's got way more important things to do with his time than follow some girl around. Your friend and ally, Jack Kelly's girl, to be exact, in case you forgot. Or have I missed somethin? Are we at war with Manhattan now?"

Spot had rolled his eyes at Rummy's emotional tangent, stating dismissively, "Why in the hell would me spendin' a little time with Jack's girl create that kinda conflict? We've just been talkin-"

" _Been_ talkin?" Rummy had queried with raised eyebrows. "What does that mean?"

"Just talkin'-takin' walks together an' talkin'-that's it. Though I'm failin' to see how any of this shit concerns you, Rummy," Spot had replied somewhat defensively.

Rummy's eyes had widened in incredulity as he had said somewhat louder, "Are you interviewin' her to join the Brooklyn newsies? Cause that's probably the only semi-acceptable excuse for you to be talkin' to Jack Kelly's girl for this long. Unless you're tryin' to help Jack. Is that why you're havin' her tailed? You think somethin' is goin' on with this broad an' you're tryin' to warn him?"

Rummy's last statement had been said with a somewhat hopeful tone, as if begging Spot for this to be the actual case, but Spot had sighed, shaking his head and saying, "Somethin' funny happened the other night, a few weeks ago when I was with her. I think someone may be followin' her an' I'm a little worried about-"

"Nothin'. You ain't worried about nothin' involvin' her, Spot. She is _Jack's_ girl," Rummy had interjected agitatedly. But as Spot had glowered at him, Rummy's eyes had become somewhat distant as he had paused for several moments before finally shaking his head and saying almost disbelievingly, "Holy shit, Conlon."

Spot had stared at him expectantly, somewhat alarmed as Rummy had begun to chuckle before continuing, "Of all the girls in the fuckin' city, you had to fall for Kelly's."

But Spot had immediately picked up on Rummy's accusation, nearly tearing the tall boy's head off with his vehement denial, "Fall for? What the fuck are you talkin' about, fall for? I ain't interested in her like that-we've just been talkin'-nothin' like what you're saying. Just talkin'. Jesus Christ."

Rummy had stared pointedly at him as he had replied, "Well if that's the case, then you should have no fuckin' problem stayin' the hell away from her from now on."

Spot had remained quiet as Rummy had shot him another warning look and then had ambled out of the room, still appearing to be shaking his head in disbelief. He remembered clearly recognizing that his actions had been utterly indefensible, hence his silence in the face of Rummy's warnings, but also that he had still had every intention of following through with them anyway. And beyond Kate's inevitably doomed relationship with Jack, beyond his damaged pride-beyond _everything_ that had seemed to insurmountably stand between the two of them in the time they had known one another, it had all undoubtedly been leading to the same place. Because, nothing had ever felt more right than holding Katherine Moore in his arms and finally making her his.

Not to say that there hadn't been plenty of unnecessary hesitation on his part in regards to that. Truthfully, he had always been terrified of sleeping with Kate for a multitude of reasons, but when it had become readily apparent that her stay in Brooklyn would likely morph into a much more permanent reality, this fear had suddenly amplified exponentially. And, strangely, the rationale behind this heightened anxiety had been something that he had never fully considered before in regards to any intimacy that might develop between them. Yes, Kate had been more fragile and broken than he had ever seen her, which had easily given him pause, but looking past that, he had realized that once the last shred of physical mystery between them had vanished, what would keep him from putting her in the ranks of the rest of the women he had been with? What if his potential relationship with her became a mere casualty of the diminished interest that always followed the end of the chase for him? He had wanted Kate to stay-he had secretly prayed for her swift forgiveness, but most importantly, he had promised her that she would be different than all of the other women in his life. And what if he found himself incapable of keeping this promise, no matter how much he wanted the opposite to be true?

And Kate, of course, had also been attuned to his clear hesitation, but not wanting to add to her natural inclination to think the worst, he had avoided the topic all together with her as he often was wont to do with any difficult conversation. Yet, after seeing the pure terror radiating from her face when she had been in Dims' arms and then the rage following the emotional quarrel that had all but exploded thereafter, he had realized that, while he had been rightfully angry with her, he had certainly contributed to the problems leading up to those events. He had demanded her trust but had been unwilling to reciprocate behavior that had made him in any way worthy of it. He had expected her to let him in when he had still been holding her at arm's length, both physically and emotionally. But worst of all, he had made no effort whatsoever to even attempt to change any of these typical behaviors. He had fought for a place at the table with Kate, but then had refused to sit down, and as he had thought on this while dejectedly smoking on the roof the night of her , he had realized just how poor his behavior had truly been.

But then she had made her way back to him again, as she had always seemed to do over the years, focusing her beautiful green eyes into his and offering him not only her honesty, but also an infinite openness for him to be whatever he needed to be. And, surprisingly, that night he had needed to be vulnerable, he had needed to be insecure, but above all else he had needed her to make sense of things for him. And after everything had been said and done, he had needed her to be his.

" _I want you to be mine.," he had stated clearly._

" _Only me?" Kate had mumbled emotionally back, searching his eyes for the truth._

" _Yes."_

 _Her eyes had filled with a mixture of emotions and a small smile had touched her face before she had put her hand behind his neck and pulled his lips to hers._

 _However, he had startlingly broke apart from her, grasping her face with both his hands and saying firmly, "I need to hear you say the words-out loud."_

 _He had held his breath in silent wait, vulnerable and exposed as she had stared into his eyes._

" _I'm yours, Thomas Conlon."_

And so he had kissed her possessively, roughly running his hands over her somewhat exposed body while simultaneously leading her down to his room. But it hadn't taken long for the long list of insecurities to surface, slicing through their connection like a knife, one at a time. Yet Kate had simply patched up every new tear capably, allowing him to slowly, but surely put these hesitations to rest.

"There are things you don't know about me-from my past, Kate. Really terrible things that'll change your opinion of me-make you not want this," he had gasped, suddenly breaking their kiss in a somewhat desperate attempt to confess as they had made their way into his room.

She had squinted at him, solidly putting both hands on either side of his face as she had murmured, "Everyone has a past, Thomas Conlon. Part of mine's forever scarred onto my abdomen. But it doesn't matter, as long as you leave it there. It's a piece of who you are now, not the whole story."

And as she had stood on her toes to put her mouth on his again he had felt that worry immediately replaced by another. So, not a moment later, he had found himself pulling back, saying, "What if it is though? The whole story? You won't want me, Kate, you won't."

But she had just as easily countered him, smiling gently while saying with a playful glint in her eye, "A wise man once told me what I should do if I ever found myself teetering on the edge of something. That sometimes you need to throw yourself from it, if you find you can't balance." His eyes had widened in slight amazement at her callback and subsequent turn around of his past words. She had sighed, softly caressing his cheek as her eyes had pierced into his and she had continued, "I'm strong enough to keep you from the bottom, Tom. That's what we've always done for each other. I know you and I want you. _All_ of you. Everything you've got."

And without another moment's pause, he had leaned into her even more aggressively, the want for her effectively numbing the fears that still remained swirling throughout his mind. He had shrugged off his suspenders as he had gripped the tails of her oversized shirt, pulling it off in one swift movement. And then, after pushing his lips to hers again, a wave of lust pooling heavily in his stomach, he had felt her fingers deftly unbuttoning his shirt and pushing it off of his shoulders. Her mouth had been enticingly warm and her body had easily molded itself against his own as he had run his hands over her chemise, exploring her hourglass shape-her breasts, her hips, and all of the alluring connections in between. But as they had made their way to the cot on the floor, he had slowed his touches somewhat, wanting to reconnect with her in a way that was separate from the carnal urges coursing throughout his body. He had grasped her head in his large hands, running his fingers through her messy hair and lifting her beautiful, pale face to his, their eyes locking for several quiet moments as they both had breathed heavily.

And the longer he had paused and stared at Kate's trusting, empathic face, the more the fear of his own base nature had flooded throughout him. He had shaken her head gently in his hands, torn between what every inch of his body had been telling him to do for as long as he had known her and keeping her at the safe and steady distance he had always maintained.

"I could hurt you, Kate. I could make things so much worse for you-I'm no good at any of this. I could ruin everything," he had whispered, frozen in his tense internal struggle.

"Then don't," she had firmly replied, strengthening her stance and hardening her gaze. "All this control and you don't think you can turn it on yourself? It's your decision, Tom. So make it."

He had marvelled at her again as she had smiled, placing her hands over both of his and then pulling them down and interlocking her fingers into his grip. She had then guided him toward his bed, gently pulling him into a seated position next to her on the cot and squeezing his hand as she had raised her eyebrows in question.

"And what about you?" he hadn't been able to stop himself from asking, the last deep-seated insecurity within him finally rearing its ugly head as their gazes had met again.

She had paused, staring intently at him while releasing his hands. And in the quiet moment following, he had felt a panic course throughout him, terrified that his previous admissions of emotionality had been translated into weakness, leaving him open for his worst fear to occur-for Kate to leave him for good. However, she had simply placed one of her hands on the side of his face, caressing his cheek with her thumb and leaning into him, gently kissing first his top lip, then his bottom one before bringing her gaze back to his. He had watched her carefully, surprised by the sudden smirk that had touched her lips as she had whispered, "I'm in as long as you can keep up."

Thus, in the face of her playful challenge, he had noted a new comfort filling him, combining the usual ease he had always felt in her presence with a fresh sense of freedom, allowing him to not only reconnect with Kate as the girl he had always known but also to comfortably take the lead with their physical interchange. So, after he had smirked back toward the beautiful green-eyed girl, he had grasped her body purposely, laying her down on his bed and kissing her hard, first on her mouth, then more gently trailing his lips down her neck and collarbone, her satisfied sigh causing further waves of desire to fill him. And after more breathless kisses and further disrobing, they had fallen into a rhythm-their rhythm-his fingers delicate on her bare skin while hers clenched tightly into his hair. He had touched her as if he had always known how her body would respond and she had urged him on, her hands and mouth like catalysts, deepening their contact until nothing had been left between them. Their bodies had synced into a natural exchange, and as he had pushed faster, further, and deeper, she had easily matched his pace and intensity, calling his name out as he had buried his face into her hair and neck, both of them falling into the abstract abyss of their passionate physicality together.

And after having collapsed onto his back, pulling Kate's trembling body into a secure position against his chest and slowly coming back to himself, he had found his mind just as slowly sinking into a dull anxiety, in anticipation of the apathy and disinterest that typically fell upon him in the moments following any of his sexual encounters. But, as the minutes had continued to tick by and a calm silence had settled over them, Kate's hand gently caressing his bare chest and his fingers instinctively combing through her long tresses, he had felt himself easily soothed into a somewhat strange contentment-nothing like what he had ever experienced before. There had been a rightness, a wholeness that had caused him to pull Kate even tighter against him, her lips gently brushing onto his collarbone. He had revelled in the peaceful quiet, not only in the space surrounding them, but also within his body and mind. Kate's presence had always given rise to deeper pulses of affect within him, but as he had lain next to her that night with the newly acquired knowledge of their clear physical chemistry, the once nameless emotions swirling throughout his body had fixed more legibly into his mind, finally conferring the legitimacy of her place within his life. The heartbeat that he felt reverberating from her bare body to his was a tune that soothed his very soul. And when he had stared down at her beautiful, drowsy face, he had realized suddenly what the culmination of everything between them truly meant-the fierce, chaotic wild-haired, though delicate woman lying in his arms was _the_ something that he had always been unconsciously searching for but had never actually succeeded in obtaining. Katherine Moore was his home.

"Tom?"

Her whisper had been barely audible, but he had quickly responded, turning his head to look down at a pair of enigmatic green eyes.

"Hm?" he had grunted gently, staring questioningly back into her gaze.

She had sighed, looking away from him for a few moments and biting her bottom lip in clear hesitation which had caused Spot to lift his head up slightly and ask more seriously, "What is it, Kate?"

Her eyes had met his once more as she had quietly questioned, "What's going to happen to me now?"

"You mean as far as your standing here with me and Mary and the boys?" he had asked confusedly. But before she had opened her mouth to respond, he had continued emphatically, "Absolutely nothin'. You're mine through and through, and Brooklyn's your home as long as you want it to be. I thought we already settled all that."

Her worry had seemed to momentarily give way to relief as she had given him a small smile, leaning forward and kissing his lips before her gaze had once again become more solemn.

"I was more talking about what Dims said today. I mean if someone's looking for me it's really only a matter of time before-well, what I mean to say is it's not that hard to find me-and what would stop anyone who came looking? What if-well what if all I'm doing is endangering everyone else here and there's nothing anyone can do to protect me?" she had stammered in trepidation, her eyes avoiding his steady stare.

"Hey, Kate, look at me," he had said firmly after a short pause, feeling her body trembling slightly in his hold. And once he had secured her attention, he had continued clearly, "I won't let anything happen to you. No one will touch a hair on your head as long as I'm breathing. You got it?"

"You aren't able to stay here with me all the time-you have work at the docks and morning selling," she had more fervently persisted, locking eyes with him as she had continued, "And what happens if you aren't here? How do you know your boys are onboard with that plan-with me at al?"

He had stared at her for several quiet moments, hesitating to respond with his honest thoughts. But he knew innately that anything other than the absolute truth would be an unacceptable reply, especially in light of everything that had been spoken between them that night already.

"The thing you gotta understand about the boys here is that it takes time for them to look at someone as one of them-as part of Brooklyn. You haven't been here that long, so it's just gonna take some time for them to warm up fully to you. But until then, my boys are onboard with me, so by extension they are onboard with you. An' the ones that prove to feel otherwise won't have a place here no more."

She had shrugged laying her head back onto his chest as she had murmured, "So you're saying I just have to trust you-and by association them?"

"Kate, as long as you're under this roof, I can guarantee your safety," he had replied, squeezing her slightly as he gently kissed the top of her head.

"I'm in real danger, aren't I, Tom?" she had whispered after several quiet moments had elapsed, a tremor passing through her body again.

He had paused in hesitation once more as he had pulled her even closer into his hold, murmuring, "You're safe here. I've got you now."

And although Spot had not wanted to speak on anything involving the strange predicament that Kate had found herself in, especially not in that moment, he had felt himself tightening his grip even more firmly around her body. There had still been too many unanswered questions and open leads for him to feel at all comfortable bringing up the scary scenario that had seemed to be following Kate around like a black cloud. In the months that had passed since the start of her stay in Brooklyn, he had had no further clues to who had caused this chaos in Kate's life, but more importantly he had not even had an inkling to go on as far as why someone would have done the horrendous things they had done. All he had known for certain, at that moment, was that Katherine Moore was in far graver danger than he had originally realized.


	23. Chapter 23

Hey faithful readers! Sorry for it taking a while to post again. I actually had a longer chapter planned, but decided to split it into two because that made the most sense. Just a reminder, this story is rated M for a reason. Also shoutout as usual to my betareader hch428 for literally making these postings possible. Hope you guys enjoy! Leave me a review to tell me what you think! :-)

Chapter 23

Spot Conlon felt an uncharacteristic worry fill him as he stared into the boisterous Brooklyn gathering, Katherine Moore's form immediately catching his eye. Her back was turned to him as she stood in what appeared to be a good-natured conversation with Boxer and Tops, the two boys smiling and chattering away while the dark-haired girl nodded in interest. But even though only pleasantness appeared to be abounding throughout the large common room, Spot still felt a lingering suspicion pervading in his gut that Kate was not in as high of spirits as she seemed to be. There was something about the way she stood, something about the way she clenched her fingers into tight fists, and certainly something about the way she gulped the drink in her hand-her third drink in an hour-that made Spot want to whisk her away from the party being thrown mostly in her honor to sit her down and demand she speak candidly with him.

But he suspected this tactic would most likely yield the same kind of responses she had already been giving him throughout the day-that she was "fine", that "nothing was wrong", and that he needed to let it go. And perhaps she was right-as far as him letting go of the pervasive guilt he felt in regards to the incident that had taken place early that morning, but his instinct and Kate's pleasant, but distanced behavior since then had told him it _must_ be something.

She had been more than enthusiastic four days prior when his boys had surprised both of them with the idea for the celebration they were now attending. It had been well before dawn the morning after Kate had first spent the night with him, and she had insisted on going to change into her work clothes before Mary had awakened for the morning. So, after having quietly guided the scantily clad girl into her room and aiding her in quickly dressing herself, he had walked her back out onto the landing between Mary's living quarters and the lodging house bunk room, wanting a few minutes alone with her before he left for work.

She had looked up at him with a small smile, murmuring, "You better go get yourself ready so you aren't late for your shift at the docks."

He had smirked in response, purposefully grasping her hips against his pelvis and pushing his lips provocatively onto hers, relishing in the surprised but satisfied sigh that she had emitted. And when she had wrapped her arms about his neck, deepening their kiss and molding her body onto his in such a way that he could feel every single one of her curves, he had again experienced the sheer, though novel, comfort that came with Kate finally being his.

In the hours following their first sexual encounter Spot had felt nothing but a steady flow of contentment passing throughout his body. He had at last been capable of allowing himself to settle into the unusual sensation of rightness while also putting his insecurities to rest. He had revelled in the openness that so naturally came over him when he was in Kate's presence-finally able to breathe with the knowledge that she was now unequivicobly his. It had been the first time in his life that he had felt assured-not only in his decision to be with someone, but also in the idea that he, Spot Conlon, might actually be on a path that did not reek of utter self-destruction.

However, they both had nearly jumped out of their skins, breaking apart from their kiss as a familiar voice had drawled, "Well, shit, Conlon, it's about time you finally landed yourself a good one."

Spot had instinctively pushed Kate behind him, solidly putting himself between her and whomever it was lurking in the darkness of the barely lit space. But once his eyes had further adjusted to the dimness, he had sighed loudly as Boxer's swollen face had finally become visible.

"Jesus Christ, Boxer! What the hell are you doin' out here at this hour?" Spot had hissed.

"Hard ta sleep with my face all swole up like this," Boxer had said with a lopsided smile. "But also wanted to check on your girl there."

"We all did," another voice had said from the outskirts of the landing as Tops' thin body had separated itself from the darkness, along with Rummy and several of Spot's other boys.

Spot had immediately shot Rummy a wary look as he had watched his second in command lean against the wall lazily. But Rummy had merely smiled, signaling that there was no further need to worry.

"So waddya say, kid? You make it out okay?" Boxer had said gently, as Kate had come to stand next to Spot, grabbing his hand and squeezing it slightly.

He had gripped Kate's limb securely back as he had turned to stare at her in wait, wholly surprised by his boys' actions but also curious as to how she would respond. But she had simply nodded in Boxer's direction as the bulky boy had appraised her, still keeping a fair amount of distance between them while replying, "I'll be alright."

"That shiner's a beaut, doll," Boxer had continued as Kate had instinctively touched her bruised, slightly swollen cheek.

Spot remembered feeling an instinctive flash of anger fill him as he had also assessed the deepening bruise underneath her eye. When he had noted it in the alley earlier, with Kate still securely in Dims' grasp, he had been somewhat alarmed by the amount of murderous rage that had suddenly filled him. Honestly, it had taken all of his self-control to not bring Dims' life to a grisly end at that very moment. Of course he had seen far worse battle wounds in his time on the streets, but all else be damned if a single scratch were to befall Katherine Moore on his watch.

However, he had felt himself pulled back to the conversation on the landing, his ire lessening somewhat as Kate had muttered good-naturedly, "Hurts like hell."

And, as his anger had continued to fade, an odd pride had unexpectedly swelled in its place as he had stared at her, a genuine smile slowly forming on his face when her green eyes had locked onto his. In their time together, he had known Kate to push boundaries and defy logic, which had always been an intriguing draw for him, but until that moment he hadn't consciously acknowledged just how brave she was. Foolish? Definitely. Impulsive? Absolutely. But nonetheless fierce as hell. And, as he had continued to stare at her, he remembered wanting nothing more than to lay his mouth on hers again and whisk her back up the stairs to his room, work be damned.

But his attention had been pulled away from his thoughts yet again as Boxer had commented, "Conlon, don't you think it's high time we gave our girl here a real Brooklyn welcome?"

"Our girl?" Spot hadn't been able to stop himself from replying with mock warning, a small smirk touching his lips as Boxer had raised his hands in mild surrender.

"Well _your_ girl-Brooklyn's girl here," Boxer had muttered, tripping over his words awkwardly.

Truly, Spot had not been worried about any further ambiguity in regards to Kate's status with him, especially considering the brutal way he had ended up publicly claiming her the previous day. But he would have been lying if he had said that it hadn't felt a little good to see the lasting impressions his actions had obviously made.

Spot had released Kate's hand and had gently placed his now free palm securely on her lower back as he had chuckled and continued, "Well, it all depends on what she's up for."

Her eyes had again flashed to his, a mixture of amusement and something he had not been able to define shining within them as she had said, "Do I have to cook anything?"

Spot had found himself shaking his head and smiling as he had heard the corresponding chuckles from his boys and Boxer's comment of, "Nah, doll. We'll take care of it." knowing definitively that the only real requisite for a true "Brooklyn welcome" was Irish whiskey.

And following the interaction with his boys that morning, Spot had not been able to contain his shock at their actions. Of course he had been pleased, if not heartily relieved by their visible acceptance of Kate, but he had certainly not expected the incident with Dims to be the swaying factor in such feelings. The entirety of Kate's stay had been so wrought with uncertainty, most of which Spot himself had unknowingly caused, that he had steeled himself for a much harsher battle on the road to Kate finally winning their approval. But as he had thought back to the months that had passed since the start of Kate's time in Brooklyn, he had realized that the incident with Dims had, in actuality, been much more of a final confirmation for his boys' acceptance instead of the single unassociated event that Spot had at first interpreted it as. In fact, several instances had preceded the fight in the alley, culminating together to form a much more palpable basis with which his boys could relate to her. From the night she had saved Mary's life to the heavy load of duties she had taken on without question or complaint, Kate had slowly but surely positioned herself to be viewed at least favorably in his boys' eyes. And it certainly hadn't hurt that his bird Flit had quickly come to her defense once he had fully recovered from his wounds.

Spot had been passing by the bunkroom one evening several months prior when he had heard Flit saying, "She weren't crazy."

The Brooklyn leader had stopped and peered into the room, taking note of the swath of boys surrounding his wiry bird, and then had looked to Flit as he had continued, "Someone had to've been druggin' her. She weren't right in the way that that drunkard whose always by O'Toole's ain't right. Not in the way that the crazies in the asylum ain't right, y'know? I've been followin' 'er for a while, an' she's been nothin' but normal til I found 'er in Queens."

And as he had watched the other boys nod in understanding, Spot had felt utterly grateful that Flit had taken it upon himself to clear Kate's name in the one way that Spot could not. But he had also been realistic enough to know that time was another important factor that would aid his boys in coming around to her, so he had armed himself with enough patience with which to wait for that eventuality to come to pass.

And pass it finally did, almost immediately following the fight with Dims. For as soon as the morning after, Spot had found that his boys had already been much more willing to engage with her, even including her in the playful banter that typically abounded each day at the lodging house. And Kate, in turn, had had no problems calibrating herself to this new positive role. Truthfully, Spot hadn't been able to help the warm surge of happiness that had filled him as all of the loose ends between Kate and the Brooklyn boys had at last been tied off. But, in the midst of this easing strain, Spot had come face to face with a loose end of his own that he had been utterly remiss in dealing with. When Julia had shown up at the lodging house unannounced before dawn that morning, it had certainly been an unwelcome surprise, but it had also caused an unprecedented amount of upheaval between he and Kate, instigating Kate's present state of stoic distancing and leaving Spot reeling in confusion.

He remembered suddenly waking early that morning to the soft glow of twilight coming in through the attic window. He had lain there, momentarily grappling with his muddled thoughts, but had quickly felt a smile touch his lips as he had heard Kate sigh sleepily next to him. Her back had been to him, her wavy dark hair splayed out messily across the pillow and he had felt unable to stop himself from simply marveling at her outline in the semi-darkness. She had stayed with him every night since their first physical encounter, and the more they had set about exploring one another's bodies, the more he had found himself filled with a deepening sense of investment and intrigue-an utterly unprecedented development for him to say the least. There had been an intimacy in their physicality that Spot had never before encountered and, if anything, it had only seemed to heighten his want for her. Her sensuality had fused enticingly with all of the characteristics that Spot had long cherished about her, culminating into an impassioned translation that was brought to the surface by his mere touch-his lips against her skin yielding evidence of her receptivity, his hands entwined in her dark locks pulling forth her free spirit. It had been a visceral transition between them that had produced anything but disinterest in its wake, and Spot had felt utterly engrossed by the resulting headiness.

So in the low light of the morning, Spot had been pulled to Kate's body yet again as he had gently run his hand under her nightgown and along the waistline of her bloomers while softly placing his lips upon her neck. He had intensified his touches, Kate's inviting moan sounding lightly next to him as she had rolled her body into his eager grasp. The feeling of her fingers running through his hair had urged him on as he had planted passionate kisses down her jaw and neck, her body's subsequent pressure against his only fueling his fervor. Nimbly, he had slipped off her bloomers, running one hand over her breasts as he had raised himself above her, his eyes hungrily locking onto her aroused though still somewhat sleepy gaze.

"Say it again," he had whispered almost inaudibly as he had stared intently down at Kate, hovering seductively above her body with a contented smirk.

He had felt her hands trace gently over his exposed chest, her eyes flashing warmly into his as she had smiled, murmuring, "I'm yours, Thomas Conlon."

And with a satisfied grunt in response, he had leaned into her, covering her mouth with his while guiding their bodies into one another, easily syncing with her again.

But almost instantly, they had been jolted from their amorous entanglement as a firm knock had sounded clearly throughout the dark space. Spot had pulled his mouth away from Kate's, still interlaced within her body, and had jerked his head irritably toward his room's locked door, calling, "I'm busy! Whatever it is can wait for a half hour or so. I'll be down in a bit."

Yet, just as he had turned his attention back to Kate's lightly smirking lips, a familiar voice had softly drifted through the door, saying, "Spot, listen. I came here early to make sure I caught you before you left for the day and before any of the boys would be up. It's been months since I've seen you, and I can take a hint, but I-I just need to hear it from you is all."

Spot had felt the color drain from his face as it had become undeniably clear that it was, in fact, Julia who had been standing outside of his room and not the bothersome Brooklynite that he had originally assumed. His eyes had momentarily caught Kate's, an unreadable mixture of emotions flashing in her gaze as he had struggled to decide what his next best move should be. But only a moment had passed before Julia's voice had again cut through his thoughts as she had stated quietly, "Spot, I'm just asking for a few minutes of your time. After everything, I feel like I at least deserve that."

He had sighed frustratedly as he had maneuvered himself off of Kate and into a seated position next to her while awkwardly avoiding her gaze, torn between gruffly sending Julia on her way through the safely locked door or somehow relaying the closure she had seemed so hellbent on receiving without her entering into his room.

"Spot," he had heard Julia say even more softly with an accompanying knock, as he had hesitated for a moment longer.

However, he had turned away from the door as he had felt Kate moving beside him, pushing herself up into a seated position as well and staring at him blankly.

"Kate," he had whispered tensely, "I'm-"

"Go do what you need to do already," she had responded quietly, glancing toward the door with a look of discomfort.

And as another set of knocks had resounded throughout the space he had pushed himself up, quickly pulling on his pants from the previous day while shooting Kate a look that he had hoped relayed just how sincerely regretful he was for the unnecessary scenario playing out in front of her. Kate had simply looked away from his gaze, biting her bottom lip as she had fiddled with his blanket anxiously.

He had taken a deep breath before unlocking the door and opening it just enough to view Julia's slim figure and long blonde hair in the dim stairwell. But before he had had a chance to say one word to her, she had pushed past him, mumbling, "I wasn't sure if you'd answer."

Spot, somewhat panicked had attempted to usher her back out into the stairwell with him as he had said, "Wait, Julia." but it had already been too late. Her icy blue eyes had quickly taken in the room she had frequented many times before, easily settling on Kate's still form atop his bed in the opposite corner.

Julia's face had paled, her lips drawing into a thin line as she had murmured, "You're-you're here?" Her eyes had snapped back to Spot as she had continued somewhat louder, "She's here? With you?"

He had nodded, at a complete loss for words as she had backed away from him, darting her confused gaze between the two of them for several silent minutes while Kate had diligently stared at her hands, avoidant and worried and Spot had maintained his frozen watchfulness.

But all too suddenly, Julia's surprise had morphed into a fierce anger as she had hissed, "Unbelievable, Katherine! I thought you were selfish before, but this-this is a new low. Even for you."

Kate had remained silent in the face of Julia's distressed rage, clenching her hands into tight fists against the blanket on Spot's bed as she had continued to avert her eyes from the seething girl. But this had only seemed to bolster Julia's fury as she had moved closer to Kate spitting, "You low-bred disgrace! You self-serving whore!"

"Hey!" Spot had interjected harshly grasping Julia's arm and pulling her back from Kate. "Do _not_ talk to her like that!"

But Julia had resisted savagely, fighting against Spot's grip as she had continued, "You introduced me to him, Katherine! You told me you were happy for me, and all of it was just lip service until you could make a move! You lied to me about Spot, you lied to your parents about leaving town to elope, and then you had the gall to ask your mother for money after putting her through all of that stress! Do you even care that your actions have hurt so many people?"

As Spot had pulled Julia back further, attempting to digest the long list of accusations she had flung in Kate's direction, he had been surprised to see Kate's head jerk upward, her gaze emanating pure confusion as she had sputtered, "Wait, what? Who asked my mother for money?"

Spot had looked to Julia as well, completely lost within the befuddling interchange that was playing out between the two girls. However, Julia had merely scoffed in disgust, yanking her arm out of Spot's grasp and stating, " _You_ did! Don't play dumb for Spot, Katherine. You sent her a letter the same week you left. Your mother was absolutely riddled with guilt for months after that. She would have given you the funds too, if they had actually had them to spare-which makes absolutely no sense to me, but I suppose your parents are much more thoughtful than you've ever been."

Kate's eyes had appeared to glaze over in further confoundment as she had again looked away from Julia's heaving form, waiting several moments before saying quietly, "Julia, listen. I don't-I don't know how to explain any of this in a way that would make sense but-" Kate had paused, sighing heavily as she had brought her gaze back to Julia's, whispering, "You can't tell anyone that you know where I am. I need you to pretend that I'm not here-that you never saw me-it's just-I can't-I can't have anyone know."

Julia had rolled her eyes in revulsion, stating harshly, "I, unlike you, care about not hurting your family any further so I would never tell them just how vile you've really become. Honestly, I think it _is_ better if we all just start pretending that you don't exist anymore. All you do is cause destruction wherever you go."

Kate's eyes had widened, her face paling considerably in the wake of Julia's comments, but

undeterred by Kate's pained silence, Julia had swiftly spun to face Spot, an infuriated glare fixed on her face as she had seethed, "As far as I'm concerned you two lying snakes deserve each other."

Spot had shaken himself somewhat from his stunned silence as her final assertion had settled fully into his awareness. He had immediately felt his own anger bubbling forth as he had narrowed his eyes at Julia before sternly replying, "I know playin' the victim comes real easy to you, Julia, but don't you dare try to make me out as a liar. You know damn well that I've been nothing but honest about my intentions with you-how we were _never_ exclusive-how this was _never_ going to turn into anything long term. So, as far as _I'm_ concerned, you can take your self-righteous bullshit and clear the hell outa here."

Julia had stared at him quietly for a moment, her features hardening before she had murmured coldly, "You've snagged yourself quite the man here, Katherine. But don't worry. I won't get in between the two of you anymore." She had shot a harsh glare in Kate's direction before continuing, "I hope you like being disappointed. The bastard's all yours. " And before Spot had had a chance to respond to any of Julia's attacks, she had rushed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," Spot had muttered under his breath as he had stood at the closed door for several moments, anxiously running his hand through his hair while attempting to sort through the dramatic confrontation that had just taken place. But suddenly remembering Kate's eerily quiet presence, he had worriedly turned toward her still form and had made his way to sit next to her on the bed. Yet, the dark-haired girl had merely continued to stare absently off into the distance.

"Are you okay?" he had murmured, somewhat concerned by her wringing hands and pallored expression.

But she had still kept her eyes focused straight ahead in silence, causing Spot to gently touch her arm and say, "Kate, I'm sorry about that. I had no idea she-"

"It's fine," Kate had interceded solemnly, flashing him a passive look before sighing heavily and moving to get dressed.

"Kate," he had said, standing up as well and walking toward her as she had begun to button her blouse. "That was alot of shit that just happened. I mean, did she say-did she say you eloped with someone? What the hell is she talkin' about?"

Kate had snapped her eyes to his, scoffing incredulously as she had muttered, "Yes, Spot, I've been lying to you this whole time. I ran off and got married and then as a testament to our love, my new husband carved the word "whore" into my stomach and left me for dead."

Spot had been taken aback by Kate's harsh response and had quickly attempted to assuage her sharp anger by saying, "Kate, I know-shit-I'm sorry. This was all just-I don't-"

But Kate had quickly cut into his inelegant statement again as she had pulled her skirt on, saying, "It's fine. There's nothing to worry about."

She had nodded at him distractedly after she had laced her boots, and then had made her way to the door. But Spot had quickly circumvented her journey, putting himself between her and the exit as he had gently cupped her face in his hands, lifting her gaze back to his.

"Kate, I know this looks bad-her showing up and all, but-"

Kate had dipped her eyes away from his, interrupting him once more as she had said, "It's fine, Spot. I heard what she said about not having seen you in months. You didn't do anything wrong. Really."

She had flashed her gaze back up to his as she had enunciated the final word of her statement, her face masked in calm, but her wide green eyes betraying the storm raging on beneath the surface.

He had caressed her pale cheeks with his thumbs, murmuring, "What is it then? You can talk to me."

She had nodded, her eyes momentarily searching his face, but all too quickly she had severed their connection as she had said, "I just have a lot of things I need to do before the party tonight and I've gotten really behind on Mary's laundry lately so-"

"Kate," Spot had interjected, still worriedly staring down at her while also attempting to relay his willingness to further discuss the emotional altercation that had just transpired.

"It's fine," Kate had replied shortly, pulling herself away from his grasp and looking at the floor. "Everything is fine. I just need to get started on some things is all."

"Alright," Spot had found himself conceding half-heartedly as he had moved away from the door, releasing her from the conversation that she was clearly going to evade at all costs anyway. And as she had avoidantly walked past him, he had known definitively that Katherine Moore had been anything but fine. Yet, all of his further attempts to engage her throughout the day had been just as quickly subverted, leaving Spot feeling utterly flummoxed as to how he should best proceed.

But Spot felt himself pulled aggressively back to the Brooklyn gathering around him as he heard Rummy say softly in his ear, "Hey, boss, Kelly's here."

Spot turned to look at Rummy confusedly before focusing his gaze in the direction of his second in command's nod. And sure enough, there Jack Kelly stood in the midst of a group of his boys, chattering good-naturedly away.

"What the hell's he doin' here?" Spot muttered, perplexedly watching as the Manhattan leader made his way further into the crowd.

Of course Spot was not at all averse to Jack visiting Brooklyn, but it was late, the visit was unexpected, and when Spot caught sight of the Manhattan leader's swift pause by Kate he felt his eyes narrow in concern. Kate turned suddenly away from her conversation with Tops as Jack leaned into her ear, whispering something that Spot's keen gaze could not discern. Kate's eyes seemed to reflect confusion as Jack stared meaningfully at her. But, after only a moment, she looked irritably back at Jack, sighing and nodding curtly before facing Tops again with a newly forced smile painted on her face. Jack, appearing to be satisfied with the response Kate had given, continued to meander aimlessly through the crowd before Spot shot Rummy a wary look and then slowly made his way toward his Manhattan ally.

"How's it rollin', Jacky-boy?" Spot said sharply as he came to stand right behind the disheveled newsie.

Jack spun to face Spot's harsh stare, his brown eyes wide in surprise as he chuckled awkwardly, saying, "'Ey, Conlon. Wasn't sure where I'd find ya in all this mess."

Spot silently surveyed Jack's anxious face with interest. The Manhattan leader had never been particularly good at hiding his emotions which had resulted in many a lost hand of poker, but more importantly, it had made it nearly impossible for Jack to get away with any attempts at dishonesty. So Spot paused for a moment longer, feeling torn between demanding to know the reasoning behind Jack's short interaction with Kate or simply letting things play out as they would if he had been none the wiser. He sighed, relaxing his face somewhat as he opted for the latter, hoping that perhaps more information would be readily available to him if he just sat back and watched the situation unfold.

Jack rubbed the back of his head uncomfortably as Spot cleared his throat, asking with a much more affable tone, "So what brings you to Brooklyn tonight, Cowboy? Ya here for the free booze or you got somethin' new for me?"

Jack sighed, seeming relieved by Spot's change in demeanor as he gave a half-hearted nod and replied, "Maybe. I gotta couple a' leads I needta keep followin' up on. Really, just wanted to check in 'cause it's been a while an' I heard about the, uh, incident last week." Jack's eyes quickly darted to Kate's form across the room, his statement clearly alluding to the altercation between Kate and Dims. "She seems to have come out of it okay though."

Spot nodded, looking toward Kate as well. But, not wishing to further a conversation that would inevitably lead to an uncomfortableness resulting from both of their shared experiences with the girl, Spot decided to swiftly change the subject by saying, "So all else is well in Manhattan? You still managin' to stay in Sarah's good graces?"

Jack's eyes flashed with amusement as he chuckled and responded, "Surprisingly. Though with her startin' that new job Davey got her in the archives, she might find herself surrounded by better options than a bum like me pretty soon."

Spot shook his head with a smirk, muttering, "Ya know, you _are_ gettin' a little old to still be carryin' the banner, Cowboy. Maybe it's time for you to start movin' up in the world. A charmin' guy like you should have no problem findin' a place with a better view."

"Could say the same for you, Brooklyn," Jack quipped back genially.

Spot found his gaze again settling on Kate's dark hair and womanly figure as he replied, "Don't worry about me. I'm pretty sure I've got somethin solid in the works as we speak."

Jack smiled at Spot and patted him on the back with an understanding nod. "About damn time you wised up enough to see what you were missin'." But after a moment's pause, Jack looked uncomfortably toward the entryway stating quietly, "Well, as much as I'd like to piss the night away with you fellas, I gotta start makin' my way back." He brought his gaze back to Spot's unwavering stare, saying, "But as soon as I hear somethin' worth mentionin', you'll be the first to know, Conlon."

Spot nodded appreciatively, clapping Jack on the back as the Manhattaner headed toward the exit slowly. But, as Spot stood and gave a quick passing glance over the crowded room, he immediately caught sight of Kate saying something quickly to Tops and then steadily moving toward the door as well. Spot's eyes locked with Rummy's as the large boy also began making his way out of the room, but Spot shook his head in response, indicating silently that he would handle whatever lay in wait himself. So, after seeing Rummy's nod of understanding, Spot worked his way through the crowd and passed into the entryway of the lodging house.

He was easily able to maneuver himself into the shadows of the poorly lit hallway several yards away from the front door where Jack and Kate now stood with their backs to him. He worriedly took note of Kate's frazzled demeanor as he saw her arms wrap about her abdomen tightly, her hands clenching white and her face set in a harsh glare.

"I thought one of the benefits of not being with you was that I wouldn't have to talk to you anymore, Jack," Kate hissed with a quiver as Jack rolled his eyes in response.

"Well you might wanna start preparin' yourself to see me pretty regularly if you're gonna stick with Spot. I ain't gonna avoid Brooklyn just 'cause you got your unmentionables in a twist still hatin' me," Jack quipped back harshly.

Kate agitatedly huffed, her glare intensifying toward the Manhattan leader as she stated, "That doesn't mean I have any obligation to interact with you beyond hello and goodbye. And it certainly doesn't mean that you can demand to speak with me privately whenever you feel like it."

Spot saw Jack's stance deflate somewhat as the Manhattaner sighed, rubbing his face tiredly with his hands and saying somewhat more gently, "C'mon, Kate. Ain't it about time we put the bad blood behind us? It's been over a year since we ended things and if we're bein' honest here, we both did shit worth apologizin' for."

But, instead of the calming effect that Jack had probably been hoping for with his choice of words, Kate bristled defensively as she spat, "Excuse me? I don't recall ever hitting _you_ in the face while demanding a confession of infidelity during our time together."

Spot felt his stomach clench tightly as a multitude of uncomfortable memories involving Jack's abusive behavior toward Kate flooded through his mind. It had been a dark time for the Manhattan leader, and Kate had unfortunately borne the brunt of most of his wildly shifting moods. But Spot had also felt culpable in some ways for how everything had ultimately played out. Not only had he been guilty of inappropriately pursuing Kate throughout her relationship with Jack, though he had denied it vehemently at the time, but he had also been responsible for the subsequent fallout landing fully on Kate's shoulders. Spot had easily been able to hide behind his fierce reputation as Brooklyn's leader to thus evade any possible retribution for his actions, but Kate had not held any such power with which to defend herself. And until that moment, Spot had not truly realized just how unfair the entire situation had been for her. There had been no recourse for her in dealing with Jack, and noone to turn to once things had progressed into the violent physicality that eventually resulted. So as much as Spot had always blamed Kate for her cowardice in waiting as long as she did to end things with the Manhattan leader, he finally was able to see with some clarity that she had actually had no other good alternative. Spot had certainly not given her any type of assurance that he would remain by her side, romantically or otherwise, so, really, what had he expected her to do?

But, truthfully, his hands had been tied as well. For as much as his leadership of Brooklyn had aided him in escaping the consequences that had befallen Kate, it had also limited his ability to come to her defense when things had initially turned violent. His constant urge to beat the ever living shit out of Jack for his abusive behavior had been consistently outweighed by his need to remain disengaged. Kate had not been his to defend and any involvement he brought to the situation would have unfortunately carried the weight of Brooklyn with it. Not to mention presented further evidence that would have only served to justify Jack's accusations. But, if Spot were really being honest with himself, at the time, his main motivation had been much more selfish in nature. Because, on a personal level, standing up for Kate would have represented a solid declaration of something he had not been willing to even admit to himself, let alone commit to publicly. And while keeping his distance from the worrisome dynamic between Jack and Kate had been one of the hardest things that he had ever done, without an express request from Kate for his help, he had not had a leg to stand on and he had certainly not felt comfortable taking it upon himself to act on his own accord. So, although he had been resentful towards Kate's long deferment in dealing with her unhealthy relationship, he had also been ultimately relieved when she had finally approached him with the intention of ending things.

But his thoughts were quickly brought back to the present conversation between Kate and Jack as he heard Jack's heavy sigh and statement of, "You're right. That was some pretty messed up shit I pulled on you. And-I'm sorry."

Spot saw Kate's head lift to stare at Jack, surprise apparent in her features as her stance visibly relaxed somewhat. However, Jack's following assertion of, "But I wasn't too far off the mark it looks like." resulted in Kate's immediate withdrawal from the conversation again as she turned from Jack and scoffed in revulsion.

Spot felt his own eyes automatically roll back in exasperation, seeing so clearly how Jack's consistent need to have the last word had created the resurgence of unnecessary tension. But, undeterred by Kate's closed off stance, Jack pushed forward with his thoughts, saying, "Look, Kate, any idiot with half a brain could see how smitten you were. Just like every other girl that's ever laid eyes on him."

Kate spun around, pointing her finger in warning at the Manhattaner as she growled, "I'm not about to stand here and let you lecture me, Jack. That goes well beyond any of my obligatory politeness. Of that much I'm certain."

But as Kate began to stomp furiously toward the common area again, Jack quickly added, "But you weren't just every other girl, Kate. Not to Spot."

Kate abruptly halted her angry trek away from Jack as his words seemed to sink in more fully. She stood with her back to him, crossing her arms over her chest in apprehension, but with seemingly no intentions of moving further away. Jack stepped closer to her, murmuring, "We weren't ever gonna work together, you and me. Even if Spot hadn't been involved. And I see that now." Kate exhaled heavily through her nose, shaking her head as Jack went on to say, "You've always been this force, and I just-I never knew how to handle you. You were wild, an' unpredictable, an' it took everything in me to just try and keep up." Jack paused, sighing as he ran a hand through his hair before he continued, "But, for whatever reason, instead of lettin' you go, I tried my damndest to crush every ounce of spirit you had. I guess, for me, that was easier than admittin' that you needed somethin' more than what I could give you."

Spot felt shock slowly envelope his body at Jack's surprising, though still genuine contrition. And as he looked toward Kate's form, he could see that the beautiful dark-haired girl was grappling with similar emotions. She slowly turned to face Jack again, a wariness apparent in her stance, but also a new sense of intrigue, as she asked lightly, "Why are you telling me all of this, Jack?"

Jack looked at her as he took a deep breath and said, "Because Spot Conlon is one a' my oldest friends, an' whenever he's with you, he seems to be at his best." Kate stared at Jack with a look of confusion before Jack frustratedly continued, "Look, after all the awful shit he's had to go through in his life, I'd never begrudge him a chance at bein' happy-or even just havin' some peace of mind. I mean, I've seen Spot with a lotta different girls over the years, Kate, but I ain't ever seen him as steady and settled as he is when he's spendin' time with you."

Jack paused, flashing Kate a good-natured grin as he continued, "That's not to say I understand it or anything. I mean, when _I_ was with you, you drove me crazy-all the time. It was exhaustin' an' then some. But, Spot, well…" Jack shrugged, tilting his head in thoughtfulness, "I don't know, maybe Spot needs that kinda thing in his life. He ain't ever been good at bein' caged in, an maybe he don't have to be when he's with you."

Kate remained quiet for several moments as she seemed to be slowly digesting Jack's words. Even Spot himself was having a difficult time working through the intuitive statements that Jack had just relayed. But before he could truly delve into his own feelings regarding Jack's insights, he heard Kate bewilderedly murmur, "So this is why you needed to speak with me privately? To give me your- _blessing_?"

Jack's demeanor seemed to shift as he processed Kate's query, his face becoming more serious and his hand uncomfortably rubbing the back of his head while he muttered, "Not exactly."

Kate narrowed her eyes, shaking her head and raising her arms expectantly as she replied, "Then what is it?"

Jack looked at Kate silently for several moments, wiping his hands through his hair before saying, "Well, I had a-a bit of a run in with your ma yesterday, Kate."

Kate eyed Jack warily, recrossing her arms over her chest and muttering, "What are you talking about? Why are you following my mother around?" But then before he had a chance to respond, she sighed irritably, raising her voice as she chastised, "For God's sake, Jack, just leave well enough alone with her. I'm sure you were the last-"

But Jack quietly interrupted the exasperated girl as he said, "She approached _me_ , Kate. She cornered me, demandin' to know all sorts of things. And, fuck-I didn't know what to say. Spot gave everyone strict orders to keep a tight lid on any information havin' to do with you so when I wouldn't answer 'er, she started accusin' me of some crazy shit. I mean- "

"What crazy shit?" Kate cut in firmly, standing eerily still while she focused her gaze unwaveringly on Jack's flustered form.

Jack's discomfort appeared to heighten as he looked away from her harsh stare, muttering awkwardly, "Some shit about how I was in on sendin' her threatenin' blackmail letters for the past three years. She said to tell my cronies that she wasn't gonna send no more money an' that she was done. That you can't squeeze blood from a stone."

Kate seemed to buckle after each word that Jack uttered, her face paling and her eyes slowly glazing over as she tightened her arms about herself. Jack looked apprehensively toward her, several moments of silence passing between them before he murmured, "Listen, I ain't bringin' this up to hurt you, Kate. But I feel like I needta ask-is there somethin' about your family that you haven't told us yet?" Jack moved his head lower to try to meet Kate's avoidant gaze, but she simply darted her eyes to the floor, shuddering slightly as she bit her bottom lip. Jack looked to her for a moment more before sighing heavily and saying, "Y'know, honestly, Kate, if you don't wanna tell me anythin', I can respect that. I really can. But you _need_ to say somethin' to Spot. This whole mess stinks if ya ask me, an Spot has a right to know what the hell he's gettin' himself into."

Kate's eyes snapped back to Jack's momentarily, her body erecting itself in indignance before she asserted, "I'm not a liar, Jack. And I would never knowingly put anyone in harm's way. So I'm not exactly sure what it is you're insinuating about me here."

Jack scoffed, rolling his eyes as he quickly replied, "Come on, Kate, I ain't callin' you a liar, an' I know for a fact that you wouldn't hurt a fly if you could help it." Spot noticed Kate's body lax slightly at Jack's words, but Jack's face became more serious as he continued, "But I also can see that somethin's eatin' you up inside. Keepin' secrets ain't ever been your strong suit, doll, so if I were you, I'd come clean with Spot about whatever it is that's got you manglin' your fingernails and bitin' holes in your lip. I mean, shit, he was willing to lose Brooklyn for you, and that's the most important thing to him in the world. So, whatever it is you think you can't say probably ain't as bad as you're makin' it in your head."

Kate nodded, rubbing her face in her hands as her body trembled slightly. When she looked up again, Spot thought he could see a sheen in her eyes and perhaps even a small tear traveling down her cheek. But Jack walked toward her, pulling her into somewhat of an awkward hug, obscuring her from Spot's view as he mumbled, "I ain't told him about your ma or anythin' yet. Figured you should be the one to bring up any outstandin' information first."

Kate again dipped her head down to communicate her understanding, though her eyes appeared even more distant and distressed than they had been moments before. And after Jack smiled lightly at her and then exited the lodging house, Spot became suddenly alarmed as he heard Kate let out a sharp cry of frustration, and then forcefully punch the wall next to the entrance.

Without thinking he rushed to her side as she crumpled into herself, grasping her injured hand against her chest and yelling, "Dammit!"

But the moment Spot's fingers grazed her hunched form, she righted herself, violently pulling away from him. And as her gaze met his, her green eyes glowing with repressed pain, she huffed exasperatedly, shaking her head and walking past him.

"Kate," he said firmly, grasping her forearm to pull her back towards him. But she shook him off, avoiding his eyes as she whimpered, "Everything is fine, Spot. Just leave me alone."

And after watching her run into the noisy common room, he shook his head, immense frustration filling his body as he muttered, "Fuck," under is breath, and then slowly followed her back into the party.


	24. Chapter 24

Hello wonderful readers (if you are still out there) here is the new installment (that took me forever to write). Just another reminder that this story is M for a reason, but beyond that, I hope you enjoy the new chapter! Leave me a review to let me know what you think! I LOVE feedback and reactions :-)

Chapter 24

In the hours following Kate's emotional discussion with Jack, Spot continued to monitor her from afar, respecting her request for space but also hesitating to give her too much. Because, although the girl appeared to be maintaining her composure with surprising skill, Spot could easily see that she was spiraling dangerously close to her breaking point. Kate had always had a penchant for self-destructive behavior when it came to avoiding unpleasant emotions, a trait which Spot himself often exhibited. But he also knew that with the fifth of whiskey she had all but polished off within the last hour and the fact that she seemed to be unable to stand from her seated position without falling over, leaving her alone was not an option for at least the rest of the night.

"She's a mess, Conlon."

Spot looked up tiredly into Rummy's face, surprised at the sincere worry he saw flash across his second in command's gaze. But the only response the Brooklyn leader could manage was a heavy sigh as he relaxed further into the chair he had been occupying for the past several hours.

He glanced across the room toward Kate's form, noting the drunken fatigue in her gaze as she half-heartedly nodded to the group of boys playing poker around her. She had thankfully abstained from all of the betting that had taken place thus far, and the boys had quickly ceased inviting her after noting the threatening look that Spot shot their way. Her inebriated state was already going to be quite the burden to contend with for the remainder of the night, so he had preferred to not have the extra responsibility of returning money to any injured parties the next day.

But, when Spot saw Kate suddenly push herself to standing, saying a quick goodnight to the boys, and then clumsily making her way to the entryway, he swiftly moved to follow her.

"Don't be too hard on her," Rummy said lightly as he offered Spot a knowing smile.

Spot couldn't help but chuckle in response as he rolled his eyes, muttering, "All I can say is she's lucky she's _my_ mess."

Rummy glanced at Spot raising his eyebrows and nodding approvingly as he replied, "She sure as hell is. Now go take care a' your girl, 'fore she hurts herself on those stairs."

Thus, with a shake of his head, Spot walked to the entryway, steeling himself for the battle that would surely be awaiting him. And as he looked around the corner, he immediately caught sight of Kate attempting to steady herself against the hallway wall on her way toward the stairs.

Her green eyes caught his for a moment as he swiftly approached her, guiding her body gently into his supportive grasp and muttering, "C'mere, Kate. Lemme help ya."

She languidly leaned into him, seeming to be too drunk to do much else, but then he heard her solemnly murmur, "I don't feel well, Spot."

"I bet not," he said lightly, the wobbliness of her legs making it difficult for him to lead her in any forward motion at all. "But that's what'll happen when you get upset and drink too much. It doesn't take a whole lot for a little bit like you to overdo it anyway."

However, Kate's mood suddenly shifted in response to his consternation as she weakly pushed away from him, stumbling back against the wall and irritably responding, "I can hold my liquor just fine, thank you very much. And if all you're going to do is stand there and lecture me, I'll be more than happy to go it alone."

Spot had felt a smirk tugging at his lips in the face of Kate's petulant obstinance, which, when compared to her previous hours of stoic silence, was a much more agreeable place for him to work from. So, he backed away from her, leaning against the opposite wall as he raised his eyebrows and challenged, "Really?"

He motioned with his hand for her to continue as she glared at him and hissed, "Yes, you condescending ass! I got along fine without you before, so I don't see why it'd be any different now."

But after only a handful of steps in the direction of the stairs, Kate collapsed onto her bottom with a definitive "Humph." Spot shook his head, chuckling as he pushed himself off of the wall and went to crouch next to the mess of a girl who was barely able to hold her body upright on the floor.

"Are you done being stubborn yet?" Spot asked with a laugh as he gently brushed several loose curls out of her face.

She slowly lifted her gaze to meet his, her eyes cloudy and distant, but also somewhat melancholy as she mumbled, "I wish you'd stop being so kind. And patient. And-well, handsome. It's really hard for me to push you away- especially when you're doing all of those things at once."

Spot was taken aback slightly by her drunken, though poignant statement. But unsure of how best to respond to Kate's unpredictable emotional state, he simply flashed her a soft smile and reached his arms out, saying, "Come on, Kate. Let me help you to bed or who knows how many hours it'll take for us to make it up the stairs."

But his joking comment only succeeded in reigniting Kate's indignance as she shot him a harsh glare, pushing his limbs away from her once more and saying, "I don't need your help, oh mighty king of Brooklyn. And if you're in so much of a hurry, then go up without me. I'll be there in a minute." She paused, however, as she attempted to stand again, only succeeding in falling immediately back onto her bottom before muttering under her breath, "As soon as the floor stops moving."

Spot sighed, rolling his eyes as he muttered, "Jesus Christ, Kate, you're more belligerent than most of the boys." He leaned in, pulling her body into his grasp somewhat firmly as he commanded, "Now put your arms around my neck."

She balked at his order, attempting to push him away again, but he quickly restrained her, intently murmuring, "Kate, look at me." When he secured her tired, defiant stare he continued more softly, "I need you to cooperate."

And shockingly, her face broke into a coy smile as she responded, "I don't like cooperating just for the sake of cooperating."

He snorted, shaking his head as he said, "That, I'm already plenty aware of." But when he brought his eyes back to hers once more, he stared kindly down at her beautiful, tired face and continued, "How about cooperating for the sake of me being able to take care of you then?"

He was surprised to see her smile quickly fade, the same sadness entering her gaze as she shook her head and murmured, "Why in the world would you want to do that?"

But before she had a chance to argue with him further, he swiftly gathered her in his arms, saying, "Because I take care of what's mine. Now put your arms around my neck, Kate." She lolled her head drunkenly against his chest, half-heartedly draping her arms about him as he lifted her against his body and said softly, "There you go."

He noticed somewhat worriedly that her right hand had swollen and bruised following her emotional punch to the wall several hours prior, but he simply filed the observation away as another task that would need to be taken care of once they had made it up the stairs.

However, as he slowly began climbing toward the second floor his attention was brought back to the girl in his arms when she began to muse almost inaudibly, "I've never been the girl that someone would have wanted to claim as theirs before. My papa always said that if I had just completed finishing school, I'd have made a much more acceptable match for someone, but that it's too late now-that I'm incorrigible." Spot looked down at her as he made his way across the landing and then began climbing the short set of stairs leading to the attic, meeting her somber gaze with a questioning look. But, she immediately turned away as she continued, "I mean, you do know that there are plenty of other girls out there that would be much easier to deal with than me, right?"

Spot exhaled as he pulled her body closer into his, carefully considering his response before he said it aloud. He could tell that Kate was close to the emotional breakdown she had been fighting against since earlier that morning, and he wanted to not only make sure that his statements reflected the care and patience she so clearly needed, but also the encouragement she required to finally tell him what was going on. Spot was not easily frustrated and angered by nature, but when pushed to a certain point, he was known to have a fierce temper. And Kate had always been very skilled at pushing him to those points when she was upset. So as he walked through the door to his room and gingerly placed her on his bed in the corner, he armored himself with an excess of understanding, moving to pick up her nightgown from the floor and returning to calmly sit beside her while saying, "Well, I don't know if you've noticed, but proper girls aren't really my drink of choice. I've always appreciated someone with a little fire-otherwise things would get pretty boring."

Kate stared at him tiredly, offering him a brief smile for his efforts, but then dazedly looked away as she laid back against the wall, seeming to be lost in her own thoughts. Spot silently began untying her boots and removing her stockings, looking up at her hesitantly until he secured her nodded assent. He found that he could not help gently running his fingers down her thighs and calves as he slipped the fabric off, instinctively warming to the feel of her skin in contact with his own. His touches seemed to calm her as well, and as he continued to undo her skirt and unbutton her shirt, her eyes closed momentarily and a soft sigh escaped her lips. But as she leaned forward so he could remove her blouse, her eyes slowly travelled back to meet his, a tear falling onto her cheek as she blinked.

They stared at one another for several more quiet moments, another tear falling from her eyelashes as she said softly, "This can't really be what you want."

Spot sighed, tossing her shirt onto the floor behind him and gently wiping the tears from her face with his thumb before shooting Kate a serious look and firmly challenging, "Why not?"

"Since when is Spot Conlon the type of man who settles down with just one woman and spends his nights wiping away her tears and soothing her nightmares?" she said with a meek scoff, more tears dripping onto her cheeks.

Spot stared unblinkingly into her red-rimmed eyes as he replied without hesitation, "Since that woman was you, Kate."

The statement flowed out naturally before Spot had even truly considered what he was saying. And in its quiet wake, he felt a sliver of fear pulsate through his body as he recognized the multitude of implications that his vulnerability had opened him up to. Because, in not so many words, he had admitted to Kate, and perhaps even himself, that she truly was an important, influential factor in his life. And, in some ways, this felt like the equivalent of ceding Kate the tools with which to destroy him. He had never been comfortable laying his cards out on the table for all to see, especially when his emotions were involved. But, strangely, his unexpected confession also filled him with an immense amount of peace-a surprising sign that perhaps he had finally found the right someone to safely entrust himself in.

Yet, he quickly refocused his attention back on Kate as she shook her head in clear disbelief of what he had imparted. But instead of letting the subject drop awkwardly between them as he was typically inclined to do, he grasped her chin and pulled her eyes back to his, saying more intently, "Look, just 'cause I've never settled myself with anyone before doesn't mean that I'm incapable of doin' it. I'm not a casual man by nature, Kate. I've just never felt strongly enough about anyone _to_ make that kinda effort before now." She stared at him silently, appearing to be processing all he was saying. But before she had a chance to respond, Spot steadfastly continued, "So, stop wastin' your energy trying to push me away-'cause I'm not goin' anywhere. Talk to me. Tell me what's going on. Please."

She sniffled, momentarily dipping her eyes away from his as she slowly shook her head in continued dissent. But Spot squeezed her chin, lifting her gaze back to meet his concerned stare again as he said softly, "Maybe start with why you and Jack's conversation from earlier has you so upset."

She shook her head once more, a multitude of tears flowing onto her cheeks as her eyes remained fixated fearfully into his.

Spot sighed in response, staring thoughtfully back at Kate for several moments as he absentmindedly reached up with his free hand to tuck a loose lock of hair behind her ear, noting how her mesmerizing green eyes glowed even brighter in contrast to the emotional redness surrounding them. He gently wiped away several more tears that fell onto her cheeks, and then with a reinvigorated purpose, put both his hands on either side of her face and asserted matter-of-factly, "Doll, it's obvious that you're upset about somethin'. You've never had a good poker face and you know it. So instead of holdin' onto whatever it is that's makin' you sick like this, just tell me what's goin' on." He paused, looking meaningfully at her before continuing softly, "You don't have to deal with any of this alone. I'm here."

Her eyes searched his as she remained still within his grasp, a sheen of tears reflecting back at him. And after swallowing hard, she emotionally whispered, "Why?"

He shook her face slightly in his hold as he solidly replied, "Because that's what people who care about each other do."

"Not always," she said quietly, pulling away from him yet again and hunching into herself as she buried her face in her palms, stifling several strangled sobs.

Spot gently put his hand on her back, running his fingers lightly over her chemise in the hopes of imparting some sort of comfort while she attempted to contain her overwhelming emotions. But when she looked back up at him after wiping her face roughly with her hands, she seemed to be no longer capable of holding back the source of her pain as she fretfully stammered,"I think my mother-I think she did something really horrible, Spot. Something that she's been trying to keep quiet for years."

Spot felt surprise fill his body as he slowly digested Kate's somewhat unexpected statement, finding it difficult to mentally process her assertion in any meaningful way. He had met her parents briefly on several different occasions, and the only impressions he had been left with were positive in nature. They seemed to genuinely care for their daughter, and Kate had never given reference to any ill treatment at their hands. But, as he fully considered Kate's relationship with her parents, he suddenly realized that, in all the years Spot had known Kate, he had actually rarely heard her mention them at all. And as he noted the powerful melancholy radiating from her eyes, he felt immediately willing to accept that perhaps there were more layers to the story than he had gleaned in his brief interactions with them.

He met Kate's gaze, grasping her hands securely within his much larger ones while asking, "What do you think she did?"

But Kate confounded him again as she shook her head dazedly and answered, "I have no idea." Yet, upon noting his confused stare, she elaborated quietly, "But I think I was taken because of it."

Spot studied her for several moments, attempting to piece together what she was implying as she looked earnestly toward him in wait, her eyes seeming to beg for his understanding and acceptance. But he floundered slightly, battling between his utter willingness to believe her assertion and his inability to make sense of it himself. So, carefully, he squeezed her hands to intimate his continued support, and responded, "What do you mean?"

Kate bit her bottom lip anxiously as she looked past him, murmuring, "It all seemed so random to me for so long-the kidnapping, I mean. This whole time, I thought that my mind must have fabricated most of what I've remembered because-it-it just didn't make sense." Kate paused, her eyes glassy and distant as she continued, "But this morning, when Julia said those things about why I'd been gone, and then after hearing about my mother accosting Jack, it's-well, it's becoming a little bit clearer for me now." She sighed, rubbing her face with her hands before meeting his gaze and saying, "So far as I can tell, someone's been blackmailing my mother for money-probably has been for a long time now. And I'm assuming they must have _something_ that's made her scared enough to pay up for all these years." Kate's eyes again took on a distracted sheen as she continued almost to herself, "Something that's bad enough for her to sully my reputation and lie about where I've been."

Spot regarded her worriedly, watching the tears continue to silently fall upon her face while a multitude of questions raced through his mind. But all he managed to sputter out was, "That just doesn't seem like your mother-your family-I mean-"

But Kate snapped her gaze back to his, her eyes wide and empty as she bitingly interrupted, "Well, not everything is always as it seems, Spot. You don't know my family. Not like I do."

Spot stared at her for several quiet moments, but couldn't help the denial that still surged up within him as he muttered, "You always said that they were decent people-that they cared for you."

Kate looked away from Spot's confused gaze as she drunkenly shook her head, muttering, "Families are-well, they're messy. My mother-she loves me-but-" She again bit into her bottom lip, closing her eyes to steady herself slightly as she softly continued, "I mean, she still loved me when she went to bed for months on end and left me to raise my younger sisters too. It's just-I don't know-" she opened her eyes and hazily met his stare as she continued, "It's complicated I guess."

Spot raised his eyebrows in bewilderment, confounded again by her unexpected statement. And, upon noting the uncharacteristic hardness that immediately came over her features, he felt a peculiar simmering within his own body. The shadow that passed across her face was something that he was not used to seeing in her warm attributes, but oddly enough it drew him to her in a way that he was not expecting. There was a darkness in her eyes, a deep resentment that was much too blackened to have been related to any recent tragedy she had suffered. It was a look Spot Conlon had seen in his own features too many times to count. And while her bleakness greatly concerned him, he couldn't help but feel a stronger than usual pull to the distraught girl in front of him.

However, a violent shudder from Kate snapped him out of his awed reverie. And as he quickly noted her blanched expression and watering eyes, he jumped to his feet, pulling her up with him and swiftly moving her across the room to the window. He slammed it open and leaned her head out into the cold air, pulling the loose curls back from her face as he heard her retch forcefully.

She looked back momentarily, groaning, "I'm so sorry," then bowed out the window to vomit again. But Spot simply stroked her back in a calming manner as he murmured, "It's alright. We've all had nights like this. Just let it out."

And after several more rounds of painful heaving, Kate gripped the window sill, shaking in exhaustion as she took a few steadying breaths. Spot gently caressed her cheek in comfort, bringing her gaze back to his and saying quietly, "Kate, c'mon, let's get you in the bed. Some sleep'll make you feel better. And tomorrow, when you're a little clearer, we can sort out all this stuff about your ma." He shot her a soft smile, continuing lightly, "Maybe we'll even figure out what buried treasure she dug up to be able to pay off blackmailers all this time." But when Spot attempted to grasp her wobbly frame to lead her back to the bed in the opposite corner, she suddenly pulled against him, harshly sputtering, " _Dammit_!" as she stumbled to the opposite wall.

Spot stood in shock as he stared at the frenzied girl before him, taking in her wild, darting eyes and the somewhat unsettling way she began to mutter incomprehensibly to herself. He maintained his distance, frozen in uncertainty as he watched Kate hold her head in her hands, trembling and whispering, "The letters….Jack said she brought up the letters...she had them…..she-she- _dammit_!"

Her bright green eyes snapped to his, reflecting a pained disbelief as she muttered, "She has the money, Spot-the money that they wanted for me. I don't know how, after all this time, I could have missed this." His eyes searched hers while he shook his head in bewilderment, instigating an even stronger response from Kate as she continued frantically, "Don't you see? She-she had the money. She had the money…" Her gaze fell away from his, several moments passing in silence before her face paled and she continued sofly, "But she didn't pay."

He saw her body quiver, her lips pursed together into a thin white line as she shook her head slowly, several tears spilling onto her cheeks. But when she pushed herself from the wall in disconcertion, she stumbled backward haphazardly, falling into an old chair that Spot had brought up with him when he had first made the attic his makeshift home. Yet, before Spot could make a move to aid her, he found himself once again reeling in bafflement as Kate righted her body, letting out a shriek of frustration and kicking the chair against the wall with her bare foot.

" _God dammit_!" she yelled as she immediately set her sights on the pile of junk tucked a few feet away in the corner, rushing forward to deface old blankets, boxes, and anything else she could get her hands on, an uncanny amount of strength seeming to streamline her movements into insatiable destruction.

But as the shock quickly drained from his body and Kate's strange assortment of assertions settled more meaningfully into his awareness, Spot found himself moving purposefully toward the volatile girl, her overt distress merely acting as a magnetic anchor from which he surprisingly did not want to turn away. He felt beckoned to the darkness that had wholly encompassed her gaze, undeterred by the pandemonius storm surrounding her. And when he finally came to stand next to her, he firmly enveloped her turmoil within his strong arms and whispered, "Kate, come here."

She pushed against his hold, sputtering, " _No_! _Let me go_!" But he simply stiffened his grip on her, pulling her wet face against his chest and wrapping his arms securely about her unsteady frame, saying, "It's okay. I've got you."

He tightened his hold on her as he felt her body begin to weaken slightly, her struggle finally fully melting into the pain she had been holding out against. And the more she allowed herself to lean into him, the stronger her sobs resounded, her hands desperately clutching at the fabric of his shirt as he gently guided her back to the bed, saying, "Come on. It's gonna be okay."

He gingerly maneuvered his body into a seated position atop the cot, leaning against the wall and settling Kate securely into his arms. He brushed her messy hair out of her eyes as she stammered almost inaudibly, "She-she could have saved me, Spot."

He looked down at her tear-stained face and quivering lips, worriedly meeting her gaze as she continued, "He wrote a letter-he wrote a letter and demanded her inheritance in exchange for me." Several more tears slipped out of her eyelids, her words again breaking through her sobs as she said, "She could have saved me days after I was taken, but she lied-to everyone. She-" Kate swallowed back another sob before whispering, "She could have saved me, but she left me there."

And as Spot tightened his grip on her once more, she buried her face into his neck, sobbing pitifully. Her cries intensified into a harrowing lament as she wrapped herself firmly around Spot's body, whimpering, "Please don't leave….please...please don't leave me….please…."

He kissed her forehead, pulling her closer into him as he murmured, "I'm here. I'm not goin' anywhere."

Her arms slowly snaked around his neck as she laid her body more firmly into his chest, stifling her sobs into his shoulder while he stroked her soft hair and taut back. And as the minutes continued to pass wordlessly between them, the silence settling more fully against the backdrop of her diminishing cries, Spot found his mind wandering to all the strange snippets that Kate had finally imparted to him moments before. Yet as disjointed and unexpected as her tale had been, he knew with an inexplicable definitiveness that there was most likely a solid amount of legitimacy to what she had said. The visible pain that reverberated from within her body illuminated the clear truth in her words. And although he had long suspected that she had been withholding certain things about her time away-if only to spare him from the more painful details of her abuse, it suddenly dawned on him that maybe her reasoning had been much more strategic in nature. For Kate had always been a clever girl, certainly the smartest one he had ever come into contact with, and he was fully willing to accept that her few omissions, though purposeful, were less of a devious ploy and more of a necessity. It would not have been at all out of character for Katherine Moore to take the time to fully comprehend the motivations behind all that had happened to her before communicating these ideas with him. Her penchant for needing to deeply scrutinize complicated situations was another trait that she and Spot shared, and because he knew this to be the case, he found it difficult to blame her for acting in a way that he would have also deemed vital.

So, as her cries dwindled into slower breaths, he steeled himself against the empathic terror and pain that began to fill his own body, solidly molding into the protective shield she so clearly needed while also carefully formulating a list of questions that would gently, though effectively pull forth whatever other outstanding information he would need to satisfactorily fill the holes remaining in her story.

He tightened his grip on her body as he gently probed, "So, you saw the letter the man who was keeping you in Queens sent to your mother?"

Kate sniffled lightly before whispering into his neck, "He had me sign it."

He felt her shudder against him, the thought clearly leading to more unpleasant memories related to the incident. But he simply stroked his fingers through her tangled hair before continuing softly, "And this man…he was somehow connected to the ones that took you from your parent's place?"

He felt Kate sigh softly onto his chest as he prepared himself for the likelihood that she would have no useful insights into his specific query. Not by any fault of her own, of course, but between the drug induced stupor that had been forced upon her and the horrifying trauma that had ensued thereafter, Spot wasn't exactly sure how much she would have been able to glean from the situation at the time. Yet she wholly surprised him as she murmured conclusively, "I had the feeling that the man in Queens was kind of the-I don't know what to call it-maybe the boss-the mastermind behind it all-that he had hired the other ones. Because once I was in that tenement house, I didn't see anyone else but him." She paused as she sighed again, shuddering within Spot's hold before continuing somewhat more firmly, "He wasn't like the other men. He-he spoke differently-dressed differently than them. He was clearly educated, but it was more than that. It almost seemed like-like maybe he had come from a privileged background, a higher social standing than the rest of them. I don't know if that makes any sense."

Spot nodded slowly as he softly confirmed his understanding by saying, "He was well-to-do."

Kate murmured a low affirmative into his neck, wrapping her arms more securely around his body as he adjusted her into a less awkward position atop his lap. He stroked her messy dark curls away from her face again, quietly asking, "What about your father? Where does he fall in all of this?"

He felt Kate's body stiffen at the query, a heavy sigh following as she muttered with a considerable amount of hurt and resentment, "Honestly, I doubt he was surprised when my mother told him I had run off. I'd bet he never even questioned what she said-probably doesn't dare to mention it. He's always done whatever he has to do keep my mother from drowning-everyone else be damned. He loves her-so much-but he also-I don't know-"

"Enables her," Spot finished quietly, a hollowness filling him as her story struck a very familiar, though painful chord from his own past.

Kate picked up her head in surprise, her tired green eyes intently burning into his as an unspoken understanding seemed to pass between them before she finally murmured, "Yes. Exactly."

He studied her pretty face in the quiet moments that followed, a real worry filling his body as he noted the deep circles under her bright eyes and the white hue her skin had paled into. He cupped her cheek, running his thumb gently over her soft skin and meeting her gaze earnestly, but before he could communicate any of his concerns, Kate shakily whispered, "What am I supposed to do, Spot? I don't know what to do."

And without hesitation, he placed his other hand on the side of her head, grasping her face securely within his hold before saying, "We're gonna fix this. We'll get to the bottom of everything-we'll find out who this bastard is and we'll take care of it." She widened her gaze, seeming both surprised and skeptical as he firmly continued, "I promise, Kate."

She searched his face, several new tears dripping onto her cheeks. But when Kate suddenly clenched her eyes shut, teetering slightly in his grasp, he felt another pang of apprehension fill him. So, after swiftly stroking the wetness away, he wrapped her in an earnest hug, kissing her head and stating, "I just don't think tryin' to hash this all out tonight will get us anywhere." He paused, pulling her back to meet his gaze once more before continuing gently, "So, let's get some rest, an' we'll start to figure things out tomorrow. Alright?"

She nodded hazily as he pushed the blankets back, maneuvering her weary body into a comfortable position facing the wall before situating himself closely behind her. And after wrapping his arm securely around her waist, settling them both underneath the different assortment of quilts atop his cot, he thought he heard her murmur softly, "I'm so sorry...for everything..." But when he picked his head up to stare questioningly at her, he found that she had already fallen fast asleep.

However, as the hours continued to slowly tick by with Kate settled peacefully beside him, a pervasive disquiet still managed to descend over Spot's body, preventing the Brooklyn leader from lulling himself into his own much needed repose. Worrisome thoughts ricocheted from one corner of his brain to the next, Kate's fractured tale playing unrelentingly behind his semi-closed lids. And when his body began tensing in such a way as to incite an uncomfortable rustling within Kate, he carefully disentangled himself from her comforting warmth and made his way to the window, cracking it while he rolled and lit a cigarette.

As he blew a thick stream of smoke into the cold night air, he looked across the room at the sleeping girl, a sudden pang of emotionality percussing his chest. But instead of his thoughts again turning to the enervation he had been battling with in the wake of Kate's turmoil, he found himself focusing on the few unexpected snippets of familial dysfunction that she had relayed to him several hours earlier. And after turning back to the window and taking another hefty drag from his smoke, he reexamined the surprising things she had imparted, an odd realization striking him in regard to the origin of Kate's unconventional, though endearing, tendencies.

He had always assumed that her wild spirit had been fostered by her parents' permissive doting-an affectionate indulgence for their beautiful, eldest child. But upon further examination of his passing glimpses into her family's life, the seemingly unremarkable interactions suddenly morphed into a much more involved canvas. Her mother's quiet patience restructured itself into a distracted self-involvement, her father's silent support truly just a type of preoccupied neglect. And together, an absence of supervision prevailed, leaving Kate with few options in how best to proceed. Thus, the development of her unorthodox autonomy seemed borne more from necessity than choice. After being forced into a role that demanded a maturity well beyond her years, he imagined that her resulting fierceness had been her safest bet for self-preservation. And until that moment, it had never occurred to him that, beyond being well-fed and clothed, Kate's story mimicked those of most the boys currently in the lodging house, himself included.

But he suddenly inhaled in surprise, his wearisome thoughts immediately suspended as he felt two arms wrap snugly about his waist, a pair of soft lips and a delicate nose nuzzling endearingly between his shoulder blades. He smiled lightly as Kate tightened her grip somewhat against his abdomen and let out a gentle sigh, her heated breath radiating through his nearly threadbare shirt.

"You should get some more sleep, love," Spot said softly, taking another swift inhale from his cigarette as he allowed himself a moment to revel in the strong surge of warmth her body touching his ignited within the pit of his stomach.

Yet, after a quiet pause, he heard her murmur, "So should you."

He nodded in response, a surprising amount of relief filling him as he discerned the mild obstinance in her tone. In any other circumstance, her subtle challenge would have set his teeth on edge, if only because her moments of unnecessary defiance had been such a frequent point of contention for the entirety of her stay. Truthfully, he had found that her need to resist even the slightest hint of command he propagated was a sure-fire way to infuriate the ever-living shit out of him. But tonight, after the frightening level of emotional upheaval she had displayed, he felt comforted by the strength in her words-a promising sign that she was on her way to recovering from her most recent tumultuous setback.

Yet before Spot could speak to this noticeable change, he felt her arms suddenly drop away from his body, a jolting emptiness replacing their warmth. And in one swift movement she came to stand next to him, plucking the dwindling cigarette from his grasp and taking a slow inhale. He stared at her curiously, raising his eyebrows as he couldn't help but tease, "That one a' the things they teach you in finishing school?"

She blew the smoke out the window as she chuckled slightly, shaking her head and shooting him a mischievous smile before replying, "Something like that."

He stroked several loose curls off her forehead, marveling somewhat at the softness of her form in the moonlight as he smiled and quipped back, "They also cover how to disarm any man tryin' to molest you? Cause you seem awful skilled at partial castration too."

She simply flicked the small remains of his cigarette out of the window before turning and slowly leaning her body against the wall to face him. She crossed her arms over her chest, her green eyes clear but also purposeful as she met his gaze and smirked, saying, "It seems you're not particularly familiar with the curriculum offered at a finishing school."

He shook his head, chuckling in response as he pulled the window shut and moved to stand in front of her, unable to stop himself from reaching out and gently stroking her smooth face. But his smile quickly morphed into an abrupt inhale as Kate placed her hands suggestively on his chest, leaning her body into his while murmuring, "Besides, I think you know there are plenty of less violent ways to bring a man to his knees."

He felt his body ignite with desire, a lustful intoxication overrunning any other thought in his brain. And after allowing her to deftly unbutton and then remove his wrinkled shirt, he took a moment to relish in the sensation of her hands gently running down his newly exposed chest. She lifted her eyes to meet his, her lips parting slightly as her fingertips trailed to his pants and she firmly grasped the waistband.

However, a hint of worry flashed through his mind, her drowsy plea from several hours before suddenly breaking his focus. He momentarily shook himself from the all-consuming want surging within him, feeling a strong need to verify the true root of Kate's impromptu advances. He solidly grasped her wrists, halting any further undressing before stating soberly, "You know, you don't have to play games to keep my interest, Kate. That's not the kind of relationship we've got goin' here."

She looked up at him, a mixture of confusion and indignance radiating from her gaze as she murmured, "What is that supposed to mean? Are you the only one who can initiate something between us?"

He sighed, gently squeezing her wrists before continuing, "I _mean_ that you've never felt the need to flaunt your wiles at me before. Most other girls have come at me that way, but not you. So, all I'm tryin' to say is that you don't need to. Because I'm gonna stay, regardless of if, or how often you sleep with me. And, honestly, I'd prefer that you _want_ to rather than feel like you have to."

She stared at him silently, seeming somewhat flustered by his words. But when she frowned, dipping her eyes away from his, Spot knew his originally tentative assumptions had been correct. She kept her head down as she stoically replied, "I'm just not sure how many more things can go wrong with me before you start to feel like this is a massive mistake."

Spot let out an even greater sigh, grabbing Kate's face and lifting it up to meet his gaze as he firmly stated, "I need you to understand something, okay?" She stared expectantly toward him as he paused to give her a meaningful look, her eyes widening when he continued, "I've always wanted you, Kate. Even when I didn't know what I wanted. And, unfortunately it took me almost losin' you to finally figure that out. So, no matter what other crazy shit comes with you, I'm in. And you're just gonna have to start accepting that."

She stood silently in his grasp, seeming to be slowly processing through his statements. But after only a few moments, he saw her eyes flash with a solid clarity as she squinted at him and asked, "You really mean that, don't you?"

He nodded in response, not breaking their eye contact. And, after another quiet minute passed between them, he saw her face slowly transform into a small smile. But he found himself inhaling sharply once more as her fingertips returned to their previous position along the opening of his pants.

"Kate," he said in slight exasperation, the same lustful headiness threatening to overcome his senses again.

"This," she murmured, staring intently into his gaze as she undid his trousers, " _Is_ what I want."

And after momentarily studying her beautiful face so as to confirm the cadence of her sentiments, he released her from his firm hold, finally allowing himself to fully succumb to her physical invitation. He felt her fingers entwine with his as she shot him an alluring smile and then led him over to their bed, lightly pushing him onto his back. He watched covetously as she pulled off her bloomers then knelt next to him, fully removing his pants and tossing them behind her. Her dark hair, having fallen out of her updo many hours before, hung in wild curls over her shoulder as he aided her in straddling him, grasping her waist within his hold and staring up into her bright eyes with unabashed desire.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, his focus not leaving her sensuous form as she pulled her chemise over her head, dropping it next to his trousers beside the bed. Her gaze met his, an equal amount of yearning shining within it as she leaned over him, placing her lips softly upon his ear and whispering, "I'm yours."

And as she molded against his pelvis, her lips searing every inch of flesh they touched, he felt an intense current slowly build between them, seeming to spark from the sheer force of their desire. He gripped her hips as she pushed her torso erect and then lustfully, he took in the view of her bare body atop his, a guttural groan escaping his lips at the sight. He loved the feel of her skin brushing hot onto his own and relished in the way she seemed to read his want for her, moving herself against him as if to communicate her challenging response. But he nearly lost all conscious thought when she dug her fingernails into his chest and whimpered in desire, the electricity surging even more powerfully amidst their bodies. And soon, the tension had built to such a pinnacle of intensity that he desperately ran his hands over her back, her legs, and any other part of her form that he could reach, pulling her even more fervently into him as he called out her name. She gasped as his fingers traversed purposely from her hips to her face, pausing at any sensitive areas in between until he finally pulled her mouth to his, gripping her hair forcefully as he fell faster and harder than ever before, her body's intense corresponding shudder confirming that he was not alone in his ecstasy.

She lay atop him for several more moments, trying to catch her breath as he slowly felt himself coming down from his own sexual high. And after she turned her head to face him, remaining languidly fixed upon his chest, he found he couldn't help but smile, tracing his fingers softly along her spine as he said, "Another skill you took away from finishing school?"

She scoffed with a laugh, slapping his arm in jest as she rolled her body to settle in gently next to him, replying wistfully, "No, that one's all mine."


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

"You're gonna miss."

I felt a frustrated sigh emit from my mouth as my body bristled in irritation, but I simply narrowed my gaze toward the street below in further focus, ignoring the comment.

"You ain't doin' it right."

I rolled my eyes, shaking my head as I again ignored the voice behind me and pulled my arm back, ready to release.

"You ain't got a chance in-"

However, after the third interruption, I felt my irritation begin to bubble over as I quickly spun around to face the tall boy standing behind me and hissed, "For God's sake, Rummy! Shut up!"

But Rummy simply smirked in response, shrugging casually as I reared back to throw Spot's old slingshot at his head. I stifled a laugh myself as he fearfully jerked out of the way, stumbling over the box that he had been perched upon only moments before. And as Rummy steadied himself again, I put my hands on my hips, erecting my body to its full height while asserting, "Serves you right, cheater."

Rummy laughed, raising his eyebrows at me as he replied, "And here I was thinkin' we were just playin' a friendly game to pass the time."

I smirked back at him, as I saucily responded, "And here _I_ was thinking that you'd actually be somewhat of a challenge to beat."

Rummy sat back down on the crate, lighting a cigarette as he playfully stated, "Honestly, Kate, between you and Conlon, I don't know who's got the bigger ego."

I felt a familiar elation fill me at the mention of Spot's name, a genuine smile growing on my lips as I shot Rummy a knowing look and said, "Definitely him."

And upon turning back toward the ledge of the lodging house roof, Rummy's amused chuckle echoing behind me, I felt my smile widen as the last month of my time spent with Spot, Mary and the rest of the Brooklyn boys flashed pleasantly across my mind. It had seemed that after my ill-fated run in with Dims several weeks prior, most of the Brooklynites' prolonged feelings of distrust toward me had fully dissipated. And in the wake of the clearing smoke, I had found myself instantaneously privy to something wholly unique to the domain that Spot Conlon had spent his years as leader meticulously cultivating.

The consistent awe-filled reactions displayed by Spot's boys in regards to his abilities, which I had initially considered to be nothing more than a type of misguided hero-worship, had suddenly morphed into a well-deserved testament to his singular character. Of course I had never actually doubted Spot's potential for exceptionality throughout the years I had known him. In our prior personal dealings with one another, I had always been aware of just how extraordinary a man he was capable of being. But once I became enmeshed within the greater context of his rule, I found a plethora of other reasons that unequivocally spoke to his worthiness of such high praise

From the long hours we had spent in each other's company before becoming more officially involved, it had been readily apparent to me that Spot Conlon possessed far more layers than the self-assured, casual facade he so frequently donned. But it wasn't until I had the dual experience of not only being his confidante and lover but also a member of his tight knit Brooklyn clan that I fully appreciated and understood the true depth of his character. His once veiled inner workings had finally become fully transparent to me, allowing me to see that the motivations behind all of his actions had little to do with the cocky bravado he had long brandished. It became undeniably clear that his casual air was not borne out of any vanity or egotism afforded to him by his strikingly handsome features and easy confidence. He had a fiercely loyal and protective spirit about him, an innate drive for fairness and compassion that I was sure must have existed long before even Mary's encouraging influence.

Spot Conlon's dedicated protection of those whom he considered to be his own certainly _was_ an awe-inspiring trait. So, once his commitment to me had become solidified several months before, as far as he was concerned, I was equally established in both his personal and public sphere of influence and therefore deserving of all the benefits that came with such a membership. And after the multitude of hesitancies on his boys' part had ultimately been put to rest, they too welcomed me, no further questions asked. Thus, having finally found myself worthy enough to be counted amongst Spot's ranks, I had experienced the unfamiliar sensation of being apart of something, of belonging somewhere. And in the face of such unconditional acceptance, I settled myself comfortably within the close-knit family that Spot Conlon had spent great time and care hand-picking throughout the years, having at last found a little peace in my life.

"You gonna shoot or what?"

Rummy's voice broke through my meandering thoughts as I jerked my head in his direction and curtly replied, "Are you done cheating?"

He took another deep inhale from his cigarette before stating with a hint of a smile, "A real pro wouldn't be phased by anything."

"Fine," I muttered back, flashing a snotty face in his direction. And with an exaggerated flounce of my skirts, I turned to peer over the ledge, re-marking my original target on the street beneath us. Then, after placing the dried bean from the palm of my other hand swiftly into the worn, discolored slingshot piece, I pulled it back taut, closing one eye and releasing the small pellet onto the unsuspecting victim below. I turned to smirk triumphantly at Rummy as the dock worker's curse of irritation resounded loudly around us. However, he merely shrugged, unimpressed, causing me to throw my hands up and assert, "You don't have anything to say to me?"

But Rummy simply sucked in another inhale off his smoke as he muttered, "Lucky shot."

I raised my eyebrows at him in challenge before saying, "Double or nothing I can do it again." to which he quietly chuckled, motioning with his hand for me to proceed.

Yet, as I reared the slingshot back with another dried bean, I found myself once again reminiscing about my last month in Brooklyn, this time reflecting upon the attempted organization project from several days ago that had ultimately led to the old slingshot's discovery in the first place.

Since Mary's episode several months before, Spot had made a point of stopping by the lodging house for a few hours every day after he had completed his morning selling. It had been a good opportunity for him to not only check in on Mary, but to also spend some hard to come by alone time with me. However, when Spot had taken on a much more permanent position at the shipyard two weeks prior, I had suddenly found myself with virtually nothing to do and no one to talk to for a huge portion of the day. Spot's shift work, though much more lucrative than his headline hawking days, was far less flexible in regards to his ability to move about the borough. And because most of the other boys typically spent their time hanging around a seedy looking pub called O'Toole's between the morning and afternoon editions, the lodging house remained bereft of activity until the early evening. Even Mary, having handed me the proverbial keys to the kingdom several months before, had begun to feel comfortable enough to take a regular, much-needed midday rest while the boys were out. And after the horrifying consequences that had befallen me the last time I had dared to venture beyond the safety of the lodging house, I had been left with no other option but to stay hidden within the building's sturdy, though empty structure every day.

But after Spot's recent string of night shifts, he had been little more than a shadowy presence, leaving for the docks immediately after he had scarfed down a quick dinner, working until the sun rose the next morning and then sleeping until the afternoon edition was ready for selling. I had of course busied myself as best I could in his stead, initiating a multitude of secondary projects in addition to my typical duties around the building while also finding more than enough time to reread old favorites of mine from Mary's small library. But even with the long list of things I had planned to occupy my time, the quiet solitude surrounding me for the majority of the day had begun to create an ironically chaotic environment within which I had great difficulty finding solace. Yet, unwilling to burden Spot, Mary, or anyone else with my silly bout of loneliness, I had pushed tirelessly forward with project after project, until one day, after having sorted the rest of the space into immaculate condition, I had found myself beginning to sift through the absolute mayhem that was the Brooklyn Lodging House attic.

But because the attic had also doubled as Spot's private room for almost as long as he had lived there, I had needed to stay my final cleaning project until after Spot had left for the evening so as not to disturb the little rest he did get each day. Thus, three days prior, after Spot had given me a swift, though passionate kiss before he had left for his shift, I had made my way up to his messy domain, hoping to surprise him with a freshly cleaned and organized space when he returned to sleep the next morning.

Considering I had spent most of my nights by his side for the last month, I myself had certainly contributed to the vast disarray of Spot's attic room, a few spare hand-me-downs from Mary laying lightly atop the broken dresser that contained most of Spot's things and a scattering of books and papers around the cot that we shared. But even beyond the little damage I had done to the space, the years of built up dust as well as the haphazardly piled boxes and furniture had destined the task to be a difficult one. So after several strenuous hours of sorting through the once precarious pile of junk, I had finally made some much needed headway. The mismatched furniture had been corralled, cleaned up, and dispersed about the room in such a way as to give it a small apartment aesthetic. I had placed the scratched table and three chairs near the window of the far corner of the space. The broken dresser had not been particularly dirty, but had certainly been a challenge to push across the floor to the wall facing Spot's bed. However, after attempting several different strategies, I had found that the large piece of furniture could be somewhat easily moved by forcing my back against it while walking backwards toward the space I had originally settled upon.

Thus, after the large pieces of clutter had been dealt with, I had set my sights on the few boxes that had remained. The first three had contained an assortment of useful things; namely, extra sheets and blankets that I had set aside with the plan to wash and then integrate them into the usual rotation for the bunkroom beds. However, the fourth box had warranted a much more in-depth perusal. A small, yellowed photo of a man and woman solemnly looking ahead had been the first of many assorted trinkets and pictures that I had pulled out of the half-filled crate, carefully examining each piece before laying it gently on the floor. There had been an old metal rattle, warped slightly from use, a small wooden box filled with an assortment of marbles, and other various knick-knacks that I had added to the growing pile of things next to me. But, after inspecting an old charm bracelet and a worn slingshot, I had peered into the bottom of the now empty box to see a newspaper from nearly a decade prior lining the inside. However, assuming it had just been used to pack some of the more breakable items I had already salvaged, I had turned to set about further exploring the intriguing treasures I had lined up along the floor in front of me. But before I had fully looked away, a strange headline from the crinkled front page had suddenly caught my eye, causing me to reach in and carefully unfold the story to read it.

The small snippet in the "Brooklyn Daily Eagle" entitled "Irishtown murder suicide", barely took up five lines of space, but my eyes easily discerned the name "Conlon" from the smudged ink. I had quickly read through the short blurb describing an altercation between a Mr. Dominic Conlon, his wife Nelly Conlon and their daughter Emily Conlon that had resulted in the man fatally shooting both his wife and daughter and then turning the gun on himself. And for the next half hour I had continued to sit there silently, almost as if I had been cemented to the attic floor, completely engrossed in rereading the story as many times as it took to reach some type of understanding. My mind had prickled at the familiarity of the names but had also reeled at the foreignness of the tale. For from the very few things Spot had shared with me in regards to his past, I had gathered that he had been an only child and that his parents had died suddenly due to an illness. So, who then were these people that shared his name? Distant relations? Strangers? Or was this somehow _the_ Emily he had mentioned once before? And was she, in fact, akin to him?

But, most befuddling of all, why had Spot felt the need to lie to me if this indeed happened to be the case?

However, I had been suddenly jolted from my line of silent questions, nearly jumping out of my skin in panic as a deep voice had said, "Ya herdin' elephants up here or somethin'?"

I had leapt to my feet, swiftly dropping the newspaper behind me almost like a child who had been caught red-handed in a candy jar before dinner as I had faced Rummy's amused grin, hissing, "Jesus Christ, Rummy! Don't you know how to knock?"

But he had merely chuckled in response, looking curiously over my shoulder at the collection of items I had spread out on the floor before saying, "Thought I should come check on you with all the loud scrapin' and thumpin' noises we've been hearin' down in the bunkroom. Figured you were either fightin' or cleanin' up. Glad to see it was the latter."

I had rolled my eyes at him, finally fully catching my breath from his unexpected intrusion as I had quipped back, "Well good thing I wasn't in actual danger up here because you sure took your sweet time coming to check on me."

He had shaken his head, laughing again before replying, "I ain't too worried about you bein' able to hold your own for a bit." But before I had had the chance to respond, he had moved past me, leaning down to pick up the dirty slingshot from the floor. He had turned the wooden piece over in his hands quietly before pulling back the fabric to take fake aim at me. However, upon noting my unamused stare, he had released the elasticity, meeting my gaze and smiling as he had said, "Looks like ya found Spot's old slingshot. Always wondered what happened to it."

I had quirked my head to the side with earnest curiosity as I had asked, "How do you know it's Spot's?"

"'Cause he always marks his stuff like this," Rummy had replied matter-of-factly, holding out the slingshot for me to see while using his thumb to pinpoint an almost indiscernible carving of the letters "S" and "C" entwined together somewhat artistically on the handle.

I had marvelled silently at the finesse of the etching, but had quickly lifted my gaze back to Rummy's dark, pensive eyes as he had continued quietly, "And 'cause this is the same one from when we used to play games on the lodging house roof as kids."

"What games?" I had queried with raised eyebrows and the slightest hint of intrigue in my voice, Rummy's smile widening mischievously in response.

Yet I found myself again brought back to the present moment as I heard Rummy mutter in my ear, "You still ain't doin' it right." causing me to scowl at him and pull the slingshot back even more tautly. But before I was able to release the shot onto a second unsuspecting target below, the sound of someone's throat clearing behind us caused both Rummy and I to turn, my hand instead accidentally discharging the load into Rummy's neck.

I barely registered the large boy's howl of discomfort as my eyes met a pair of bright blue ones from across the space. And there Spot Conlon stood, leaning against the doorway of the roof in that casually confident way that always managed to quicken my pulse. He peered confusedly at the two of us, his shirt untucked and his suspenders hanging limply along the sides of his pants as he brought his cigarette to his lips for a swift inhale. I found I couldn't help the smile that so easily grew on my face as I took in his disheveled, though still captivatingly handsome appearance, an immediate surge of both desire and tranquility flowing steadily throughout my body.

Truthfully it was the same emboldening set of emotions that I had revelled in for the past month. Because from the moment I had become Spot's one and only, all of my crippling personal insecurities and fears had settled into a far more manageable collection of obstacles. And it wasn't so much that he had taken my burdens from me, but more so that his steady companionship and even personality had complemented mine in such a way so as to highlight my own capabilities in dealing with them. It had become clear to me that in Spot's eyes, I was not only his intellectual equal and partner, but also someone that he had long considered extraordinary, and thus worthy of only extraordinary love and respect in return.

Of course he had never spoken these specific sentiments aloud, but they had been clearly communicated nonetheless. He had involved me in his decisions, seeking out my input and genuinely utilizing it when applicable, and he had celebrated my autonomy in both our physical and intellectual interactions. I had always assumed that Spot would be an exceptional lover, even before any romantic encounter had been shared between the two of us. His steady stream of partners over the years as well as the in depth, often unnecessary details Julia had imparted to me had spoken volumes to this fact. And once we had finally slept together, he had, if anything, completely exceeded my already high expectations. Yet he had not commandeered our intimate exchanges in a way that I would have anticipated from someone with his prowess and experience. Instead, his body had physically necessitated my full, unabashed engagement, even in spite of my lesser skill. But if anything, our intense physicality had jolted me into an acute awareness of the power my body held, the potential it encased. That I was, in fact, not the damaged, unworthy piece of flesh I had long considered myself, but a valuable being, deserving of the passion, pleasure, and respect he freely and regularly bestowed upon me. Thus, our lovemaking had proven to not only be exhilaratingly dynamic, but also a powerful act of healing.

However, beyond the sexual sphere of our relationship, the way Spot treated me throughout our day to day interactions spoke even louder volumes to the high level of regard in which he so clearly held me. The way he looked at me from across the room and smiled, the soft kisses he so often planted on my cheek in passing, the security with which he positioned his hand on my back when next to me-the small, seemingly trivial interactions between us were nothing if not undeniable testaments to the rightness of our developing intimacy. And when combined with the absolute chemistry that flowed through all of our sexual encounters, there had been no doubt left in my mind that Spot Conlon was who I should have been beside all along. So even with the many lingering concerns still hanging precariously over us in regards to my family and the dangers that most likely lay in wait, one look into his intense, though caring blue eyes always managed to settle my panic. There was a hope that bubbled up within me, a peace that blanketed my worries merely from knowing that he was cemented firmly in my corner, and that he was the person who was supposed to be there.

"What the hell do you two think you're doin?" Spot said quietly, breaking into my thoughts as his eyes darted between me and his now recovered newsie peer.

"Oh, I hope we didn't wake you," I replied with concern, for the first time noticing the dark circles under his eyes and the thin line of irritation his mouth had formed into. "We were just playing a game. I'm sorry if we were too loud."

He raised his eyebrows in response as he took another deep drag from his cigarette, gently pushing himself off of the doorframe to take several strides nearer to us. I looked to Rummy momentarily, hoping to glean some insight about Spot's present mood from his second in command, but the large boy stood facing away from me as he continued to distractedly rub his sore neck.

Yet I found my attention again turning back to Spot's form, surprised by the silent swiftness with which he had come to stand directly in front of us as he met my stare and continued sharply, "Kate, I'm disappointed in you." He paused, seeming to note the shock on my face before he turned toward Rummy and stated, "And, Rummy, you should know better than to teach her this sort of thing."

I looked toward my partner in crime confusedly as he mutely stared at Spot's cool gaze, cocking his head. But, unable to stifle the steady flow of indignance that began to pass throughout my body in the face of Spot's consternation, I sputtered, "I'm sure working all night would put anyone in a foul mood, but you shouldn't take it out on us. I don't see any valid reason for you to make a big fuss over us playing a silly game to pass the time."

Spot's bright eyes flashed back to me in the wake of my comment, and I cursed the lustful flutter that clenched within my stomach while I attempted to match the challenge in his stance. But, he managed to shock me once again as his lips pulled into a gentle smile and he said matter-of-factly, "Well of course you don't. I'm surprised you're hittin' anything with Rummy as your teacher. He's lucky as hell he's so big, 'cause he ain't ever been able to aim for shit."

Rummy smiled sheepishly, making no move to disagree, but I stared pointedly back at the Brooklyn king, smirking as I playfully stated, "I'm not having any trouble aiming."

Spot's gaze sparkled as he smirked as well, flicking his cigarette into the distance and saying, "No, Rummy's right. You're just gettin' lucky." He ran a hand through his somewhat mussed hair before moving to stand next to me and murmuring impishly, "Here, let the master show ya how it's done."

But I could not help the natural scoff that escaped my lips at his cheeky assertion as I quickly said, "Master?" with as much disbelief as I could muster.

However Spot merely chuckled in response, swiftly turning me to again face the street below while grasping my body firmly against his before I could profess any further commentary on the issue. I felt a small thrill pulsate through me and a warm blush automatically come to my cheeks as he enclosed both of my hands within his own, guiding them to place a dried pea into the slingshot and then taking aim toward the street beneath us as he softly whispered in my ear, "Well, seeing as I did invent this game when Rummy and I were kids, I would definitely consider myself the go to authority on how to play it."

I turned my head to the side and lifted my eyes up to slowly meet his gaze, smiling lightly at the sudden tension I felt vibrating within his own body-a clear sign that he also was not immune to the electricity clearly surging between our nearing forms. But he quickly cleared his throat, nodding his head in the direction of the ledge as he murmured in my ear, "Now what most people get wrong is closing one of their eyes."

I turned back to peer over the roof, feeling Spot guiding my hand to pull back on the slingshot as he continued, "Keep both eyes open-look above the shot…"

And as his hand led mine to release the tautly held slingshot, subsequently hitting a tall bowler-hatted man dead on below, I immediately felt myself pulled out of sight, Spot's breath warming my ear once more when he said, "But the whole point of the game is to not get caught."

A warm smile again spread across my face as I gently finagled myself out of Spot's hold and turned toward him, grabbing his hands in mine and jesting, "I suppose you can maintain your title as master for now. But once I've had a little more practice, I demand a real match-just you and me."

He raised his eyebrows, responding with a smirk, "You're on." And I found myself inhaling sharply as he suddenly leaned in, his lips brushing gently over mine and my body naturally leaning into his while the world around us slowly melted away.

But only a moment passed before he just as softly broke off our kiss, cupping my face in his hand as he wryly whispered for my ears only, "I'll follow up with more of that later tonight."

I perked up at his statement, meeting his gaze with tempered excitement and saying somewhat hopefully, "You aren't working tonight?" And upon noting his soft smile in response, I couldn't help but pull his mouth back to mine, wrapping my arms tightly around his neck and reveling in the immediate flow of happiness and calm that flooded through my veins. Yet when he gently broke apart from me again, his eyes somewhat darkened with want, I felt his finger trace down my jawline as he cleared his throat a little awkwardly and continued somewhat louder, "But I needta talk to Rummy about somethin' first."

I felt a blush burn into my cheeks as I suddenly remembered the tall boy standing not three feet away from us. And upon looking in his direction, Rummy winked slyly, his mouth twisting into a smirk as he noted my embarrassed facade before quipping, "I'm just an innocent bystander over here gettin' corrupted by your depraved ways, Kate."

My face reddened even more as Spot snickered at his friend's comment. But I quickly raised my eyebrows in challenge, taking a step closer to Rummy and asserting almost impassionedly, "Innocent my ass. Anyone walking past that alley between O'Toole's and Sherman's bakery at the right time everyday gets a guaranteed smut show of you and that pretty baking assistant, Annabelle."

The smile disappeared from Rummy's face as he widened his eyes in genuine shock, his own cheeks looking somewhat piqued from my retort. But, even though he quickly recovered his composure as he muttered, "She ain't left this building in a month and somehow she thinks she knows all the happenings of Brooklyn." his reaction did not go unnoticed by Spot, who goaded with a smirk, "Well, stealth ain't ever been your strong suit, Rummy."

I had heard talk around the lodging house over the prior weeks concerning Rummy's supposed love interest, but until that moment, I had not been certain it was true. However, Rummy's clear uncomfortableness with the topic confirmed everything for me, and as I turned to make my way back inside, I shot Rummy a sly smile and said, "I guess you'll need a new rendezvous point from now on." He scowled at me in response, Spot shaking his head in amusement before I continued, "But really, you should bring her over to Mary's and I'll make us dinner. I need to meet this girl who's stolen your heart. She's a lucky lady for sure."

Rummy rolled his eyes at my statement, but then quickly nodded in appreciation, smiling and murmuring, "Thanks, kid."

Spot's face shone with an unreadable emotion as he nodded toward me as well, saying, "I'll be down in a minute to help you with dinner."

And after I turned toward the stairs, I chuckled to myself as I heard Spot say quietly, "Annabelle, huh?"

I continued happily down the rest of the way, elated from the news of Spot's first night off in a week. And after walking through the threshold of Mary's apartment, greeting several of the smaller newsies warmly before closing the door behind me, I noted the older woman's keen stare surveying me as I shot a bright smile in her direction.

"That smile could light up the dreariest of rooms, my dear," Mary commented softly, her eyes twinkling lightly in the afternoon glow of the apartment as she placed her reading glasses atop her head and leaned back in her chair to look me over.

"Thought I should try one on for a spell," I cheerfully replied before walking into the kitchen and lighting the stove in preparation for dinner.

"Well that's certainly good to hear, Katherine," she said, offering a small smile in return before matter-of-factly continuing, "So can we expect Thomas for dinner this evening, or is he off to work for the night again?"

I looked back toward Mary as I pulled several different items out of the icebox, leaning down to retrieve a pot from underneath the counter before saying distractedly, "He'll be down shortly. I thought for certain he would have already come to say hello to you. Has he not been in yet?"

However, when she responded somewhat stiltedly with, "It's been quite some time since I've seen or heard from Thomas. Not since a conversation we had last week, in fact." I felt my attention jolted away from the spice cabinet and back toward Mary's passive face and distant eyes.

In truth, I was immediately aware of the exact conversation from the prior week to which she was referring, though I had not known that Spot had continued to stonewall her since then. But considering I had, unbeknownst to both Spot and Mary, eavesdropped on the entirety of their dialogue, I remained silent, shrugging in response as she sighed lowly and picked up the book she had been reading on my initial entrance.

And after turning back to the task at hand, I found my own thoughts wandering to the strange conversation I had happened upon that late afternoon over a week ago as well. I had been making my way back into my bedroom from the fire escape after having hung a load of wet sheets to dry on the roof, when I had heard Spot's voice from the kitchen say in a somewhat irritable tone, "Mary, for the last time, I'm not going to move back into the apartment. I don't know why you're suddenly bringing that up again. And besides, where would Kate sleep if I moved back to my old room?"

I had paused by my window, feeling a hesitancy to interrupt their conversation by announcing my presence. Spot and Mary had been known to have heated disagreements from time to time, and I had found it best to let them sort it out between themselves without involving myself. However, my delay that day had had little to do with any potential rudeness that my entrance would cause and much more to do with my piqued curiosity from hearing my name mentioned. So, I had quietly seated myself on my bed, listening to Mary's sharp response of, "I may be old, Thomas, but I'm not stupid and I'm certainly no puritan. I know Katherine has been sleeping by your side in the attic almost every night, and I've been considering perhaps moving my things into the smaller room and letting you and Katherine settle into the bigger one. It's been twelve years since Mr. O'Connell passed, and I've had no need for the extra space for quite some time now."

A short silence had followed Mary's somewhat surprising offer as I had waited with bated breath for whatever further thoughts Spot would have on the matter. For me, the idea of moving away from the attic where Spot and I had shared the small, somewhat uncomfortable cot for a multitude of nights and into a real room with a gently used bed had been quite an enticing thought. And it had not just been the ache in my lower back that had incited this want, but also a small nagging need for the further legitimacy this move could potentially give to Spot and my relationship. However, I had been somewhat hurt and confused upon hearing Spot's definitive reply of, "Absolutely not. That's a ridiculous idea. I'm not going to move into your old room with Kate, Mary."

The older woman's response had been immediate as she had demanded, "And why not? From what I can tell, you seem very secure in your decision to finally be with her."

Spot had groaned irritably, stating, "I've never been more certain of anything in my life, Mary. You know that. But, that's beside the point. I just-" he had paused momentarily before continuing more softly, "I just don't like the idea of moving back to the apartment."

I had squinted in confusion, not understanding his vehement opposition to moving in with Mary, especially considering her willingness to accommodate Spot's and my budding relationship. But I had also felt the tiniest surge of insecurity in regards to his continued commitment to me when I had heard Mary sigh heavily before adding, "Well if that's the case, then I think you need to be very careful about your long term intentions with Katherine, Thomas."

I had been somewhat relieved to hear Spot defensively shoot back, "What is that supposed to mean? I just told you how serious I am about her-"

"Then it's time you came out of hiding," Mary had interrupted harshly. A short silence had followed before she had emotionally continued, "You need to stop trying to save her, Thomas. Otherwise, you'll lose her."

However, before I had even had a chance to contemplate Mary's strange words, Spot's voice had risen in anger as he had responded, "What the hell are you going on about, Mary? I'm not about to stop trying to protect her when she's got a fuckin' bounty on her head. And what does any of this have to do with me not wantin' to move back to the apartment, anyway? I swear, the shit you come up with."

Spot's flustered response had added to my already befuddled interpretation of their contentious dialogue to that point, but I had found myself reeling in even further confusion upon hearing Mary's sharp retort, "You know full well that I'm not talking about you protecting her from what's out there, Thomas. I'm talking about this perpetual need you have to keep everyone around you at a distance-"

But Spot had heatedly interrupted, "I'm not doing that, Mary-I'm not pushing her away. Like you said, she stays with me in the attic all the time. I don't think I've ever been closer with anyone. So, I have no idea where you're gettin' that from."

Mary's sigh had been full of concern as she had quietly countered, "I think that you do. But what's truly troubling isn't that you're so willing to lie to me about it. It's that-after all this time-I can see you're still lying to yourself."

A silence had stretched on between the two of them for so long that I had almost thought Spot had stormed out of the room. But Mary had eventually continued her thoughts with an even more surprising sentiment when she had murmured, "It's been years, Thomas. I think it's high time that you finally came to terms with the fact that what happened to your mother and sister wasn't your fault."

I had raised my eyebrows in concern as Spot's silence on the subject had pervaded, several more moments passing before Mary had said even more softly, "Have you told Katherine?"

Spot's stoic reply of, "All of that shit with my family is in the past, Mary. And I'm still failin' to see what the hell kinda connection you're findin' between that and me movin' in here with you again." had caused further worry to fill me. Although Spot's voice had been quiet, I had also noted the sharp severity in his tone-a sure sign that he was nearing the point of anger.

"I thought not," Mary had replied, ignoring his evasive commentary and warning timbr as she solidly continued, "Until you come to terms with this and stop sequestering yourself away from everyone around you, you are bound to repeat the cycle over and over again. And Katherine will just be another casualty in this war you insist on waging against yourself. And this is precisely why I worry."

Spot's voice had become even darker as he had stated, "Why? Because you can finally see I'm becoming more and more like my father?"

Yet Mary had quickly responded with an emotionality that I had never heard her voice take on as she had murmured meaningfully, "Because you still don't understand that you were never like him to begin with."

But I felt myself suddenly pulled back to the present, my thoughts about the emotional conversation between Spot and Mary immediately fading away as a strong arm snaked sturdily around my waist and a pair of warm lips gently caressed my neck.

My skin prickled in want, Spot's meandering mouth causing me to almost drop my spoon into the soup I had begun to prepare before I jerked to face him, staring pointedly into his amused gaze as I muttered quietly, "I thought you said you were going to help."

"Aren't I?" he whispered softly enough so only I could hear him, his eyes twinkling down at me as his hand tightened about my middle.

I raised my eyebrows as I attempted to respond seriously, "Not with dinner." But I found myself fighting against the smile that tugged on my own lips as he mirrored my scolding look, finally rolling my eyes and softly continuing, "You are so inappropriate. Save that assistance for later, Conlon."

"Fine," he replied, this time loud enough for Mary to hear, a wicked smile spreading on his face as he backed slowly away from me and continued, "How can I be of use to you then, Ms. Moore?"

I couldn't help the soft chuckle that escaped me as I shook my head and shot Spot a wry smirk, saying, "You can stay out of my way and go set the table, good sir."

"I'll allow all your hoity toity demands this once, but just remember who you're dealin' with here," he growled back playfully with a quick wink and a warm smile that I was sure could melt even the iciest of hearts.

I smiled back in kind, saying, "Oh I would never dane to forget the most fearsome newsie in all of New York. That would certainly be a capital offense."

He let out a snort in response, and as I turned back to continue minding the soup that was almost done I heard his somewhat stilted greeting to Mary as he said, "You alright then, Mary?"

But her quick reply of, "Well, it certainly does the soul good to hear the happy banter of impassioned youth fill this apartment again. If only it were permanent." caused me to stiffen somewhat as I quickly recognized the ulterior motive folded into her seemingly nonchalant comment. And although neither Spot nor Mary were aware that I had any inkling of insight into what her assertion could be implying, one quick look at the Brooklyn leader's taut stance caused me to immediately intervene before more shots could be fired.

"Isn't the saying that youth is wasted on the young?" I cut in with a smile as I moved the pot of soup onto the counter and stared intently into Spot's fiery gaze with a warning look that clearly communicated my need for him to keep his temper in check. He looked back toward me in honest surprise, opening his mouth as if to ask me about my sudden awareness of his mood shift, but I shook my head sharply, gathering several bowls from the cabinet above the counter and ladling the vegetable soup into each of them.

Thankfully, Mary chuckled at my comment, easily following the new line of dialogue I was hoping to start as she said, "Truer words were never spoken, my dear."

I placed a hot bowl of soup in front of her and then another in front of Spot, my eyes again catching the Brooklyn leader's keen gaze. He studied me quietly, nodding in thanks as I handed him a spoon, seeming to still have unanswered questions bubbling slowly within him, but also a willingness to postpone any discussion concerning our silent exchange until after dinner. Yet as I seated myself at the small dining room table as well with my soup and spoon in hand, my attention was brought away from the brooding man across from me and to the old widow sitting beside me as she continued to muse, "And if there's one piece of advice I can give to you two young, starry-eyed lovebirds, it's that once you've found the right person do whatever it takes to stay by their side." She paused, her eyes in a distant place, before continuing quietly, "Once you're as old as me, you're able to see that time really does move quickly. You blink-and there go twenty years."

She shook her head slightly, seeming to come out of her momentary haze as she looked first to Spot and then to me, continuing matter-of-factly, "So, try to see past all the distractions and settle on what's really important. That's what I'll leave it at."

I shot her a smile in acknowledgement, watching as her hand patted my own and then I looked up to again meet Spot's steady stare before I said softly, "Dig in, before it gets cold."

The rest of the meal passed by quickly, albeit more quietly than usual. But it seemed that every time I dared lift my face from my soup bowl, there Spot's bright blue eyes were, a beacon of light highlighting my every move while causing me mild discomfort in turn. I had never enjoyed being monitored, and, thanks to my parents' habitual lack of supervision, I found myself immediately averse to even the smallest hint of oversight, good-intentioned or not. So at the end of the meal, as I began gathering the dishes to clean them, I resisted slightly as I felt Spot's hand gently grasp my arm, bringing my attention back to his when he said softly, "Rummy already collected the nightly deposits, so I'm heading upstairs to fill out the ledger for tonight instead of doing it down here. See you there?"

I nodded in response, noting his muted expression and the way his question sounded strangely like an order, before saying, "Let me finish cleaning here and I'll be right up."

I offered him a smile and leaned in to kiss his cheek, hopeful not only that the small act would communicate my support, but also that the pending discussion between us could be quickly diverted before any type of quarrel commenced. However, upon taking in the palpable agitation still emanating from his body, a contentious dialogue unfortunately looked to be a real possibility. I sighed as I made my way to the sink, the click of the door signaling Spot's exit. The speed with which Spot's mood had shifted southward left me feeling utterly deflated. I had, of course, done nothing to warrant a rebuke from Spot-a point to which he would certainly concede-but I was experienced enough with his disposition to know that emotional exchanges, no matter the subject, always had a tendency to create a volatility in him. And that would often lead him to act either infuriatingly defensive or completely guarded-the latter of those being far more difficult to pull him out of.

But because these shifts were an automatic response- a protective measure he invoked without even thinking about it-I found it best to proceed with caution. To go in, guns at the ready, was a guaranteed way to incite an unnecessary explosion between us, but to temper my emotionality and be the reasonable and supportive sounding board to Spot's inner chaos would most certainly yield more positive results.

So, as I scrubbed the few dishes in the sink and scoured the pot I had used, I began to calm myself, breathing in slowly and deeply so as to put my mind in the best possible frame with which to approach Spot. And once I had finished drying and restocking the bowls and pot into their proper places, I hung the dish towel on the knob of the pantry and began making my way to the door of the apartment.

However, Mary quietly preempted my departure, pushing herself to standing from her armchair and stating, "Katherine, if I could just have a minute of your time." before I even had the chance to put my hand on the doorknob.

I turned slowly to face her, my eyes wide in apprehension, as she sighed heavily before murmuring, "Sometimes he needs to be pushed to do things, even if he's fiercely opposed to the idea." She paused, the same distant look from dinner again taking over her gaze as she continued, "That's how I've kept him away from the edge for all these years. But I'm starting to see that, perhaps, I'm not the one to do it anymore."

She brought her eyes back to me, staring quietly for a moment, her gaze full of emotion but set with purpose before she continued, "Don't mistake his harshness for anger, Katherine. He's terrified-he's just not used to being able to tell someone."

All I could do was nod in response as she proceeded to shoo me away with one of her hands and sit carefully back in her armchair. And with a short "goodnight" exchanged between us, I exited the apartment and slowly made my way up to the attic, further absorbing her words.

Her sentiments had certainly been cryptic, but, strangely, I had immediately understood their underlying intent, save the allusion she had made to the potential precipices looming in Spot's path. However, I truly doubted that _I_ would have more success than Mary in regards to pushing Spot in any direction other than the one he wanted. For as long as I had known him, he had been steadfast and assured by nature, very rarely faltering or backing down from what he thought. Thus, after walking through the threshold of the attic, a small gas lamp illuminating the space warmly, my feelings of apprehension toward confronting Spot only seemed to amplify even more as I saw his form standing by the open window, a cigarette hanging from his lips and his fingers tapping agitatedly against the frame. And upon glancing about the rest of the room, noting the crumpled photos on the floor and the clipping of newspaper grasped tightly in his other hand, I knew that the chances of diverting Spot's impending ire were close to nil at this point.

"Mary put you up to this, then?"

My eyes snapped back to Spot, his voice reverberating throughout the small space with a rawness I had never heard before. He leaned sideways against the wall, his gaze turned cooly toward me, his face almost aloof, but his tense body giving away his clear agitation. And though I hadn't the first idea of what he was referring to, I proceeded to shut the door behind me, attempting to steel myself with as much patience as possible before asking somewhat apprehensively, "What are you talking about, Spot?"

He dismissively shook his head as he took a deep drag from his cigarette, running a hand absentmindedly through his light hair and turning back to the window while muttering, "So, how did she sell it to you anyway?"

I squinted at him in confusion, somewhat irked by his obvious brush-off of my question. But I steadied myself once more, taking several steps nearer to his tense body before softly probing, "Spot, I'm not sure what's set you off here-and I hope you know by now that the last thing I want to do is upset you. But I'm not lying when I say that I don't know what you're talking about. Really."

I almost whispered the last word, hoping to convincingly impart my candor. But he merely scoffed, unmoved by my words as he flicked his cigarette out the window and turned to face me again, crossing his arms over his chest and continuing stiffly, "So Mary didn't tell you to come in here and clean up? To organize this shit so that you'd have no choice but to dig through my things?" He held out the clipping in his hand, gesturing with his other to the photos spilled out on the floor before almost growling, "Or did she use the more direct method of just running her mouth, even though she knows it damn well isn't her place, and you took it upon yourself to investigate?"

I sighed shaking my head in near exasperation as I earnestly replied,"Spot, I swear to you-Mary hasn't said _anything_ to me beyond what we normally talk about from day to day. And I decided to clean up here because I thought you'd appreciate a less cluttered space. I've cleaned the whole lodging house in case you haven't noticed. The attic was the logical next step."

He stared at me warily, narrowing his eyes in disbelief and quietly querying, "So Mary didn't tell you to pull all this crap out? To put that newspaper clipping and old photographs on the table for me to find?"

I met his distrusting gaze intently, silently rueing my decision to place the items I had found on the table several days prior, before stating firmly, "No. I was cleaning up and thought that those things might belong to you. I was planning on telling you about them when I got a chance." But upon noting the further skepticism that darkened his face, I nearly threw my hands in the air, continuing, "Spot, there's been no secret scheming or plotting going on behind your back. I'm finding it a little ridiculous that I have to actually say that out loud." I paused for several moments as I continued to solidly meet his harsh stare, hoping my eyes would further corroborate the truth in my words.

But when he turned from me abruptly, closing the window and crumpling the newspaper in his hand until his fingers turned white, I felt a considerable amount of irritation fill my body, his clear distrust of me becoming too insulting to continue to ignore. And before I could stop myself, I found my feet quickly closing the space between us and my hand grasping his arm as I pulled him back to face me, saying sharply, "Enough of this. I need you to stop the angry brooding and the paranoid accusations and just talk to me." I stared up at him, placing my free hand gently on his face, my eyes pleading for his cooperation, but he pulled away from me, agitatedly running both of his hands through his hair.

A groan escaped my mouth in the face of his petulant stubbornness, and I stomped my foot before stating flatly, "Okay, if you want the truth, Spot, here it is-a collective confession of my sins." He turned to face me again, surprise in his eyes as I unabashedly continued, "I listened in on the conversation between you and Mary a week ago. I heard the things she said about wanting you to move back into the apartment with me. I also read that article about the murder-suicide that seemed to involve people who share your last name. But, as much as I'd like to claim this masterful level of insight you seem to think me capable of, that is the extent of my knowledge. Really, the only thing I _can_ gather is that you seem to be hiding something from me, not the other way around. So, I think if anyone has the right to be demanding answers, it's me."

He stared steadily at me, his face an unreadable mask as I prompted further, "What is it that you're hiding, Spot? What happened in your past and why in God's name do you feel like you can't tell me?"

He remained silent for several more moments, his eyes not leaving my somewhat desperate stance as I held my palms open to him, anxiously awaiting his response. But he again deflected my query, severing our gaze and muttering shakily, "I'm sure there are plenty of things that you've never told me about your past before."

I sighed at his attempted diversion, saying harshly, "Not because I'm actively trying to keep anything from you. All you'd have to do is ask and I'd answer you honestly."

He brought his eyes back to mine in challenge, the unfiltered chaos swirling within their blue depths causing a slight worry to fill me. And when he just as harshly posed the question, "Did you ever sleep with Jack?" my concern grew, completely enveloping any remaining irritation that had been there.

I sputtered somewhat uncomfortably in the face of his question. And from the look of resolution on his face, it was clearly the reaction he was hoping for. The subject of my intimacy with Jack was a sensitive one, a raw nerve that, even if grazed only slightly, would typically send me into uncontrollable surges of regret and defensiveness. Thus it was a topic that I typically avoided at all costs, and one that Spot had instinctively never brought up before. But even as rattled as my senses were at his query, I was still attune enough to know that if I was hoping to get any nearer to figuring out not only what he was hiding, but more importantly, why, I would have to push beyond my uncomfortableness and tell him the truth.

I took a deep breath, feeling a slight queasiness as the words left my lips, "Yes. The night you left the party with Julia I slept with Jack for the first time. And I slept with him multiple times a week for a few months after that."

His eyes widened, the turmoil behind his gaze shining even more clearly. But as I looked closer at his face, I noted something else lying firmly beneath it. And, suddenly, the thought occurred to me that his question had not been the diversive measure I had at first considered it, but a much more intentional cruel stab at me. I buckled somewhat as this realization settled more firmly within me, hurt radiating from my voice as I murmured emotionally, "I'm not perfect by any means, Spot, and I know that. Have I made mistakes? Plenty of them. Have I done things I wish I hadn't? Too many to count." I paused, swallowing back the quiver in my voice while also noting the sincere regret that passed momentarily through his eyes before I solidly continued, "But I'm not going to stand here and pretend to be anything other than who I am. Not with you."

His own body buckled from the severity of my tone, the chaos that had only been present in his eyes seeming to slowly dissipate throughout the rest of his limbs. He shuddered, roughly rubbing his hands over his face, and I felt a further surge of worry fill me when I noted the wetness that remained around his red eyes once his hands had fallen away. But, if anything, I felt an even stronger urge to finish my sentiments, wanting him to fully understand that my confrontation was coming from a place of care and not anger.

"If we are going to be together and really do this with each other, then there shouldn't be things that you feel you have to hide from me, Spot. I don't know much about relationships, but I do know that if we don't trust each other, things will only go downhill from there," I said with an earnestness in my tone, his wide eyes searching my face as I continued gently, "And you can trust me. I've never given you a reason to think that you can't."

He rubbed his hands over his face again, sniffing agitatedly as he turned from me and muttered thickly, "It's not about trust, Kate...it's…"

He trailed off, sniffing again and pushing his hands through his hair shakily. But, undeterred, I approached him, grasping one of his hands in both of mine and saying softly, "Nothing you can say will scare me away. I promise."

His eyes met mine again, concerning me with the tumultuousness and despair that filled them. But they darted quickly away, his hand pulling away from my hold as he muttered anxiously, "It's so much more complicated than that, Kate. I just-I just can't do this right now. I can't talk about this tonight-I can't do this-I can't-dammit!"

I stood frozen in place as I watched Spot further unravel, pacing as he held his head in his hands and muttered incoherently. He seemed to be on the edge of something, close to some kind of real response, but I felt fearful to push him any further toward it as I noted the way that he continued to glance toward the door, like a wild animal looking for any and every chance to escape.

I held up my hands and slowly stepped toward him, saying softly, "Spot, it's okay. It doesn't have to be tonight-it's okay."

He stopped pacing, looking toward me momentarily before again covering his face with his hands. And I couldn't stop myself from going to him, pulling his tall lean body into my grasp and holding him as tightly as my small arms would allow me.

"You're not alone," I whispered in his ear, his stiffness slowly laxing into me as I felt his hands grasp my shoulders, closing my eyes as he gently laid his forehead against my own. I felt his breathing slow somewhat as I continued, "I'll be here whenever you're ready to tell me and I'll stay no matter what it is you have to say."

I opened my eyes when he suddenly pulled away from me, squeezing my shoulders in his strong grasp, his gaze bearing into mine with an intensity that almost made me gasp before he murmured seriously, "Why?"

"Because I love you," I stated automatically, the words flowing out of me as if I had uttered them a thousand times before without consequence.

But my face immediately paled as the reality of my assertion further settled within me, Spot's beautiful blue eyes staring fixedly, though unreadably, into my wide gaze. I felt my body shudder somewhat in his hold, the exposure of my most susceptible vulnerability laying before him, defenseless and exposed. And although the feelings I had impulsively shared were the undeniable truth, I still felt fear envelope me in their wake as I habitually pulled against Spot's grip and looked away from his intent stare.

However, I gasped in surprise as his hands gruffly grasped my face, tilting my gaze back to his still turbulently churning one. And before I had the chance to say anything further to him, his thumb gently traced over my bottom lip, and then his mouth aggressively covered mine, devouring all of my fears with a mind-numbingly savage kiss. I momentarily hesitated to respond, unfamiliar with the brusqueness he was emanating, but quickly, I found myself slipping into an equally wild rejoinder, his rough touches creating an intense craving within my body for more. I fiercely entwined my hands within his soft hair as I pulled his mouth more firmly against mine, arching my body solidly into his and relishing in the moan he emitted when I nipped his bottom lip suggestively. His hands roughly wandered underneath my skirt as he pushed his mouth back over mine, yanking down on first my petticoats, then my bloomers and lifting me up by gripping my bare thighs harshly with his hands. I wrapped my arms instinctively around his neck, feeling my back slam forcibly into the wall behind me and then I let out a sharp gasp as I felt one of his hands vigorously move to a position between my legs. I let my head fall back against the wall as an ecstasy surged throughout me, my body flowing in direct correspondence to his skillful touches. And upon hearing him hastily unbuckling his pants and feeling his hand move to lift up my skirt, I felt my stomach clench in unbridled want, crying out in pleasure as he pushed himself into me. I barely registered his heightening grunts as I felt my back hit against the wall over and over again, each of his further intensifying thrusts causing me to feel a mounting tension growing between us. I dug my fingernails harshly into his skin, feeling first his hot breath in my ear and then his mouth and teeth grazing against my neck. And as he pushed even harder against me, groping my breasts aggressively through my shirt with one of his hands, his mouth found mine again, his tongue nearly thrusting to the back of my throat. But upon feeling his body tense firmly, his lips broke from my swollen mouth as he groaned and then shuddered forcefully, releasing into me.

I felt my own body begin to shake uncontrollably as he leaned his forehead gently against mine, his fingers caressing my face and his body leading my own to slide down the wall, still within his grasp. My bottom settled softly on the floor, and he pulled his face back from mine, our eyes locking as he knelt in a straddle against me, both of us panting in an attempt to catch our breath.

In all of our passionate exchanges before that moment, Spot had done nothing more than move slowly and purposefully, showing an impressive amount of decorum and control. However, it suddenly occurred to me that perhaps he had been tempering his full urges more than I had realized. Especially when taking into account the intense interchange that had taken place only a few moments before. An uncharacteristic chaos had seemed to govern his movements, a rawness that I assumed he must have intentionally kept under strict lock and key. But, if anything, his aggressiveness had demanded something from me that I hadn't even been aware I had been holding back. For as much as I had insisted that I had long put all of my trust in Spot Conlon, I suddenly realized that his consistently careful initiations of sex with me had been fully governed by my clear hesitancy to relinquish any of my very strict constraints. And he had respected that-without fail, but also to my detriment. Now, however, as I stared into his wide eyes, I felt a closeness to him that I had not experienced before. A barrier had crumbled between us and I hadn't even been fully in tune to its existence. He had finally taken the full control over our intimacy that he had always been capable of, and it had forced me to not just put my body in his hands, but to finally trust him with it.

I remained speechless as I continued to meet his searching gaze, my brain slowly attempting a further examination of the heightened emotional exchange that had just transpired between us, but my fatigue making the task near impossible. His eyes darted to my lips, and his shaky hands cupped my face gently upward as he leaned in and brushed his mouth over mine, utilizing a softness in direct contradiction to the frenzy we had both exhibited only minutes before. And, after another moment of stroking my face with his thumbs, he silently rose, grasping my hands in his to lift me up as well. I kicked off the lower half of my undergarments as I followed him dazedly to the cot on the floor, seating myself as I watched Spot remove his shirt on his way to turn off the gas lamp atop the table. I began unbuttoning my own shirt before removing all but my chemise, tiredly scooting toward the wall and lying down on my back as I waited to feel Spot's warmth next to me. And upon hearing his soft grunt and feeling the mattress give slightly when he settled himself under the quilts beside me, I turned my face and disconcertedly met his gaze, somewhat surprised by his stricken expression. His eyes glowed in the darkness, but instead of the care and affection I had been hoping to see in them, I found my stomach sinking as it noted their guilt and apprehension.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked so quietly I almost didn't hear him.

I shook my head in response, confused by his question, but too dazed and tired to settle on a response that seemed fitting enough to say aloud. Yet, his blue eyes darkened in concern as he quietly continued, "Can I see?"

I nodded, feeling a numbness overtaking my body in response to his clear guardedness as I allowed his hands to roll my frame onto its side so my back was facing him. Then after securing the quilt around my waist, he lifted my chemise up to my shoulder blades, his fingers lightly grazing along my mid back, apprehensive and still somewhat shaky. I heard his breath hitch as his fingers tensed on a small spot along my spine. I turned my head slightly toward him, murmuring, "Spot, I'm fine."

But he either didn't hear my comment or chose to ignore it completely as he gently positioned me onto my back once more, sitting up and adjusting the quilts by my knees. He then lifted my chemise to expose the outsides of my upper thighs, tracing along the places where his hands had clenched mere minutes before. I pushed myself up on my elbows, first taking a closer look at his taut back and tense face, and then peering down to where his eyes were fixated. And in the moonlight that spilled in through the window, I saw the pale bruises that had already begun to form along the spots where his fingers had been. His eyes caught mine for a moment as I murmured again, "You didn't hurt me, Spot."

But he quickly severed our contact as he muttered, "Let's get some sleep." And after lightly kissing my forehead, he laid down with his back to me, causing the last piece of hope I had felt in the wake of my newly realized feelings of closeness with him to vanish.

I must have fallen asleep at some point, even beyond my frantic tossing and turning throughout the night, because I suddenly opened my eyes to sunlight streaming in through the attic. But my stomach clenched in pain as I immediately felt the coldness of Spot's absence. And as I sat up and looked around the room slowly, I felt hot tears involuntarily fill my eyes and begin to indiscriminately fall down my face, the events of the prior night flashing through my mind with a harshness that only the new day's light seemed to be capable of producing.

I held my face in my hands and sobbed for what felt like hours, knowing with a strange definitiveness that even though Spot would eventually come back, his stoic attitude from last night and his absence this morning were sure signs that he had rejected me. I had told him I loved him, and he had all but sprinted out the door.

So for the next hour I took my time in readying myself, allowing a comforting numbness to begin blanketing my body. But I jumped in surprise as I heard a sudden rap on the attic door, Rummy's deep voice muttering, "Kate, can I come in?"

"One minute," I called, quickly pulling my shoes on while formulating a plan that would end my conversation with Rummy as quickly as possible, lest he take note of my still red eyes and begin probing into things I did not have the strength to discuss.

But as the door creaked open and Rummy's knowing, dark eyes met mine, all thoughts of evading him fell from my mind. I stood there quietly, watching the tall boy awkwardly walk into the room, curious as to what he had to say. And after sighing heavily and rubbing the back of his neck in discomfort Rummy stated resolutely, "Look, it probably ain't my place to say anything to you, but…" He sighed again, seeming exasperated before continuing a little more irritably, "Well, fuck it, Kate. Someone needs to tell you what the hell is goin' on, and if Spot's gonna up and walk out without a word, then he fuckin' forfeits his right to the story."

I stared hesitantly at Rummy, feeling the same shakiness begin to flood throughout my body from earlier that morning, but he sharply shook his head as he said, "Listen, whatever you're thinkin' about what's goin' on with Spot, it ain't right. And that's the truth."

I stared warily into his deep brown eyes as I questioned, "How do you know that?"

And without a moment of hesitation he stated, "Because there's some shit you need to know first, before you decide he's fucked this up with you beyond repair."

"I don't know what you could possibly say that would change how I'm feeling right now, Rummy," I said softly, looking away from him and blinking back the tears that I felt forming within my eyes.

"That's why you need to listen to me right now, Kate," Rummy replied compassionately. You, me an' Mary need to have a little chat to get some things out in the open. We shoulda done this a long time ago, but we both felt like it weren't our place to tell his story-"

"He doesn't want me, Rummy," I interrupted flatly, my stomach jolting in a sharp pain as I again fought against the tears building in my eyes.

"He does, Kate," Rummy said forcefully, "But right now he ain't right an' he ain't able to put himself right. So's it's time you understood why." He paused, looking meaningfully at me before murmuring, "'Cause Mary an' I are pretty sure that you're the only one who might be able to bring him back from the edge this time."


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

My decision to ask for Spot's help in ending things with Jack had not been one I had arrived at easily. Truthfully, the Brooklyn leader had been the last person on Earth I would have ever considered for such a task. And it had not just been due to his long standing friendship with Jack, though one could have found that alone as reason enough for Spot to be a poor choice of ally. My strong hesitation in reaching out to him had more stemmed from not having seen or heard from the Brooklynite in several months. And though his newly cemented relationship with Julia had undoubtedly been a substantial catalyst for this long absence, I had been more convinced that it had really just been another sign highlighting his true feelings of apathy towards me. Despite the fact that we had spent countless affable hours in each other's company for years at that point, I had twice crossed a line with him, instigating a physicality that he had been clearly averse to. I had momentarily allowed for the possibility that Spot Conlon, the handsome, untouchable leader of Brooklyn, could have thrown his skirt-chasing days to the wind and daned to be interested in me. And I had lost him for it.

But as I had sat in the sick room of the Manhattan lodging house listening for Jack's continued slumbering sighs, I had numbly realized how truly desperate my situation had become.

I remember adjusting myself quietly into the corner I had squeezed into several hours prior, closing my eyes against the pain that had mercilessly radiated throughout my bruised body. Tears had stung against my closed lids as I had covered my mouth with my hands to stifle the sobs threatening to erupt from within me, terrified that any minute noise might awaken Jack, and with him, the unbridled rage he had unleashed upon me several hours before. However, although I had been stunned by the level of brutality that Jack had proven capable of that night, I had honestly seen the impending explosion coming for quite some time. It had been a steadily building fusillade-one forged from two year's worth of poor decisions, repressed anger, and rampant, unchecked denial. But the final descent into the fallout I had found myself in with Jack had only truly commenced the moment I had watched Spot exit the Manhattan party in Julia's sloppy, though firm embrace two months prior.

It had been the worst night of my life up to that point, and a sickness had pervaded throughout my body in the hour following the sight of them together, an agonizing pain that I had attempted to quiet with copious amounts of alcohol and mind-numbingly rough sex to which Jack had happily acquiesced. And in the weeks following, I had commenced a harmful, erratic spiral, plummeting into a series of parasthetically destructive acts that had rendered me badly hollowed and damaged. I had found myself falling into a blackness with no trail of breadcrumbs to guide me out, and what had been most concerning of all was that there had been no one there to stop me.

My parents had barely noticed my presence at home during those long, embittered weeks, so they had certainly not paid any mind to my increased absence. My mother had collapsed into her own darkness several days before the fateful party that had sparked mine, and my father, having already sent my younger sisters to stay with his parents, had requested that I keep up the books at the store and manage the deliveries in his stead. But he had been otherwise too preoccupied with my mother's swiftly vacillating hysteria to check on me at any point afterwards. And so, left with only the horrible, aching pain that had been associated with any thought of Spot Conlon, I had taken it upon myself to try and wipe my mind clean of those torturous blue eyes by any means necessary.

I had been angry, but had been too broken to allow for the real reason behind it, and that had only led me to seek further destruction. So, without my usually tempered pushback or anyone else to stand in the way, I had numbly allowed Jack to take more and more control of me, until one night I had no longer been able to passively succumb to him. But my rebuke had come far too late and he had not hesitated to quickly and violently suppress it.

Thus, the decision to reach out to Spot had arisen from a moment of such desperation and despair in the hours following Jack's drunken attack that I had swiftly and silently left from the Manhattan lodging house as soon as I had felt able to stand again, beginning the trek to Brooklyn before I had had time to change my mind.

I don't remember how I had navigated the unfamiliar Brooklyn streets as the sun had peaked at the horizon that early morning, but somehow I had managed to reach the periphery of the Brooklyn distribution center without having spent too much time aimlessly wandering about. However, I had been quickly diverted from my destination when I had heard someone from behind me suddenly say my name.

"Katherine Moore?" a deep, somewhat unfamiliar voice had stated, causing me to whirl around in apprehension. However, upon coming face to face with a large, dark-haired boy that I had vaguely remembered was called Rummy, I had steadied myself, knowing that he was most likely of little threat to me.

He had stared at me, a confusion apparent in his gaze before he had muttered almost stiltedly, "What brings ya to Brooklyn, doll?"

A flash of embarrassment and insecurity had passed through my body as I had stared back at the tall boy, feeling unsure of myself and my ability to effectively communicate my purpose. But after a moment's pause I had quietly stuttered, "I-I was looking for Spot. Do you know where I might be able to find him?"

Rummy's stance had seemed to change immediately at the mention of his leader's name, his shoulders squaring almost protectively in front of the distribution center and his mouth forming into a firm line as he had responded flatly, "Spot's busy, Kate."

I had lowered my eyes from his, my body trembling in humiliation at the clear, unspoken message he had been communicating, only managing a mumbled response of, "Oh, of-of course. It's prime selling hours-I don't-I don't know how I could have forgotten that. I-I'm sorry."

Yet, when I had lifted my gaze back to Rummy's, I remember feeling surprised by the concern that his face had quickly creased into, his eyes giving me a slow once over before settling on my exposed wrist. I had looked down as well, realizing panickedly that the bruises from the night before had flourished much more noticeably on my skin in the clear light of day. And after quickly pulling my sleeve down to cover the evidence I had heard Rummy say in a much gentler tone, "I could pass a message along to Spot for ya, if ya wanted."

I had bit my bottom lip, closing my eyes against the tears I had felt brimming on my lashes before I had hoarsely said, "I really need to speak with him in person. Is there sometime tomorrow he'll be free-or the next day? I-I can come back if I need to."

And though I had done my best to hold back the mortifying wetness within my gaze, I had felt several tears seep from my lids before I had glanced back to Rummy's increasingly troubled stare. His eyes had again surveyed my form, this time resting for several moments on my chin and lips. I had instinctively reached up to cover the area with my hand, wincing at the soreness of my jaw and the sting of the cut on the side of my mouth. But after several quiet moments of preparing myself for the real likelihood that Spot would not be coming to my aid, my eyes had snapped back to Rummy in surprise as I had heard him murmur resolutely, "You know what-come with me. Lemme see if can find 'im for ya, doll."

I had not known if it had been pity that had fueled Rummy's change of heart that early morning, but I had quietly followed behind him anyway, having not been in a position to stick my nose up at any offering of help thrown my way. And shockingly, he had led me into the very heart of Spot's domain, ushering me into the newsboys' lodging house and up the stairs to Spot's attic room after quickly whispering something indiscernible to one of the boys who had been lounging on a dingy couch near the entryway.

"Wait here a minute," he had said quietly as he had motioned for me to walk through the threshold of the attic before moving out of the room and shutting the door tightly behind him. I had glanced around the dusty space, a momentary shock of pain reverberating through my body as memories from Spot and my passionate, though drunken exchange several months prior had indiscriminately flooded through my mind. I had attempted to shake off the sinking feeling that had threatened to take hold of me as the quiet minutes had continued to tick slowly by, biting the inside of my cheek and squeezing my eyes shut in the hopes of maintaining what little wherewithal I had had left.

But, my attention had suddenly been brought back to the closed door before me, a further insecurity clenching within my chest as I had heard Spot's muffled voice, full of irritation, hiss, "What the fuck is goin' on, Rummy? SOS? It don't look like an emergency here to me."

Rummy's tone had been quiet but intent as he had replied, "It's Kate, Conlon. She needs ta talk to you."

Spot's abrupt stomp of annoyance had made me jump slightly before I had heard him mutter, "Goddammit, Rummy! That ain't no emergency either. Take a fuckin' message an' _I'll_ be the one to decide if it's important enough to follow up on."

My throat had constricted in pain at the callousness of Spot's statement and I had bit even harder into my cheek, only releasing the sore skin once the metallic taste of blood had touched my tongue. But as I had steeled myself for the sound of Spot's retreating footsteps, I had heard Rummy murmur something harshly and then had simultaneously widened my eyes in shock when the door had swung open, revealing what had appeared to be a very ill-tempered Spot Conlon. His jaw had been tense, his stare icy and I had instinctively backed away from his imposing stance, my breath catching in my chest.

It had been months since I had seen him, and though no animosity had been exchanged between us during that interim, I had still been immediately overwhelmed by a multitude of intense, conflicting emotions at his presence. And I had noted that Spot too had appeared to be grappling with his own internal turmoil, his lean build radiating a strange mixture of passivity and discomfort. I had of course felt pulled to him, even in spite of the clear disconnect that had existed between us, but the coldness within his harsh stance had been much too jarring of a change for me to have acted on this. Instead, it had made me want to shrink into the floorboards as shame and embarrassment had swelled even more intensely within me, causing me to painfully tighten the grip about my body and drop my gaze from his.

"Kate, what are you doin' here?" he had asked after several moments of silence had passed between us. His tone had been much softer than the one he had taken with Rummy, but I had still noted a subtle displeasure lying just beneath his surface sentiments.

I had felt myself backing further away from the apathy he had been projecting, my mind racing in indecision as I had bit hard into my bottom lip. I had tried to search for the right words-any sentiments that would have communicated how much I had needed him-what I had been feeling since his absence-while still attempting to stave off the impending breakdown I had felt simmering within my bones for weeks at that point. But I had simply continued to flounder in the face of his unwavering stare, my voice buried beneath my own fear and insecurity.

"Kate," Spot had prompted somewhat louder, a flash of irritation crossing his blank face as he had run his hands absentmindedly, though roughly, through his hair.

I had lifted my eyes back to meet his, taking a deep breath before stating, "I-I'm sorry for showing up here like this. I-I just didn't know where else to go-who else to talk to."

I had searched his face for a moment, hoping to catch the smallest glimpse of compassion reflecting back to me-maybe even a spark of our then lapsed comradery, but his eyes had remained cold, his eyebrows raised in impatient expectation.

So I had turned from him, squeezing myself even more tightly as if to manually force the rest of my sentiments out of my body. And after several more tense moments had passed in silence, I had finally managed to stutter, "I just-I need to end things with Jack."

I had heard him let out a long, slow breath through his nose, and upon looking back toward him, I had felt a trepidation creep into my chest at his still hardened facade, a tremor of hopelessness threatening to travel into my limbs and make it difficult for me to keep myself upright. But in another desperate attempt to steady my quickly disintegrating resolve, I had clenched my hands against my waist once more, hopeful that I would see his sharp blue eyes lighten and his stance soften toward me as a showing of his willingness to help. However, his face had remained impassive, his voice low but harsh as he had finally said, "Well, then you should. But I don't really see how that involves me."

His response had felt like a punch to my already very bruised abdomen, but, in all honesty, it had not been completely unexpected. If anything, it had further confirmed the disinterest that I had been almost certain he had felt toward me. And, truly, although my body had shaken in sickness at his firm rejection, I had not felt anger toward him for asserting it. He had done far more for me in our time together than anyone else ever had, and I had known, on some level at the time that what I had been requesting of him had not been fair or appropriate.

Thus, I had nodded slowly, dropping my gaze from his as I had murmured, "You're right. It-it doesn't."

Several tears had dripped onto my cheeks, my eyes remaining fixed on the worn floorboards beneath me as I had continued, "I'm sorry-I-I don't know what I was thinking-coming here. I guess when he didn't take it well last night-I wasn't-I wasn't sure what to do."

I had sniffled, roughly wiping the tears from my face while still avoiding Spot's stare. I had been humiliated not only by the emotions I had failed to properly contain, but also the fact that I had foolishly allowed myself to hope for Spot's aid. However, as I had nodded slowly again, straightening myself in preparation to leave, my eyes had snapped back to Spot's form when I had heard him murmur, "Are you sayin' that you already _tried_ to end things with him?"

I had studied his face quietly for a moment, noting the small amount of concern that had radiated through his gaze, his eyes making the same journey Rummy's had a half hour before. He had looked to my face, then my neck, and finally my shaking body, all the while clenching his hands into increasingly tighter fists by his side. And after a moment of silence, I had haltingly nodded in response to his query, watching apprehensively as his eyes seemed to ignite, blue flames dancing dangerously in his stern stare.

"Kate, what happened last night?"

His voice had been soft, but his tone rigid as he had taken a hesitant step nearer to me. However, I had instinctively backed further away, averting my eyes from the steadily growing concern within his, feeling several more tears drip onto my face as I had replied shakily, "It's-it's nothing. It's not important."

"What...happened?"

As he had posed the same question again, slowly enunciating each word, his voice had echoed flatly throughout the attic room with a severity that I had not been able to turn away from. I had felt my body tremor in apprehension, the humiliation of having to not only reprocess but also share what had transpired between myself and Jack the prior night causing several more warm tears to fall onto my face. But I had known from the angry rigidity settling into his jaw and the sparking fury within his stare that lying or remaining silent would only lead him to think the absolute worst of Jack-and perhaps even me. So, I had lifted my gaze back to Spot's, studying the intensity of his eyes and the tension within his build while also attempting to deem which diluted version of the story to relay so as to best temper his response.

And after several more moments had passed uneasily between us, I had breathed in deeply before managing to stutter, "I just-I upset him is all." I had paused, swallowing back the lump I had felt in my throat while also taking note of Spot's unappeased glare. So, exasperatedly I had begun to ramble, "Really-it was my fault. I said it wrong. I shouldn't have brought it up the way I did, I-I led him on and I made a mistake. He had every right to be angry and lash out at me. I deserved worse probably. I just-"

But I had been quickly cut off by Spot's savage roar of, " _Goddammit_!"

I had been shocked by the wrath that had exuded from his tense form as he had hit his cane against the wall with a forcefulness his lean body had looked incapable of exerting, only a splintered hole remaining. However, I had quickly gathered my wits about me again when I had seen his hand grasp the doorknob to exit the attic while he had simultaneously hissed, "I'm going to _fucking_ kill him!"

But I had hoarsely shouted a swift response of, "No, Spot! Please!"

And, perhaps it had been the harrowing desperation in my voice that had caused him to quickly steady himself, or the realization that his attack on Jack would carry the weight of Brooklyn with it. But whatever the impetus had been, he had immediately released his grip on the door, turning back toward me as his eyes had reflected a warring mixture of concern and fury. And shockingly enough, I had felt a steady stream of guilt flow through my own body, immediately regretful of the clear conflict I had incited within him.

My voice had quaked when I had stepped closer to him, more tears falling upon my cheeks as I had whimpered, "I'm sorry, Spot. I shouldn't have come. I'm not even sure why I'm here-it's ridiculous-I'm just-sorry-so sorry-I don't know what I was thinking. It's probably just best that I go-"

But as I had made a move toward the door myself, attempting to hurry past him before my despair erupted frantically from within me, his hand had solidly grasped my arm to pull me back. I had whimpered, the bruises on my limb aching in response to his grip and my body shuddering in fearful anticipation of his potential ire. However, when I had raised my eyes to meet his, only worry and sadness had been reflecting back to me.

And after his free hand had gently clasped my other arm, I had no longer been able to contain the anguish that had seemed to unceasingly intensify during his two month absence. It had chaotically surged forth, both consuming and dominating me with its unyielding fervency. But, even as I had choked out several strangled sobs, the safety I had felt from Spot's nearness had allowed me to further release the harshly compacted pain from within as I had sputtered, "I don't know how, but I have to end things with him, Spot. I can't do this anymore. And I'm sorry I'm here burdening you with this, but I didn't know who else to go to. I know this is my fault-I shouldn't have led him on-I should have ended things with him a long time ago. He has every right to be angry-he really does."

However, Spot had shaken his head and grasped my face in his strong hands as several more sobs had forced their way out of my mouth, tipping my chin up to meet his beautiful blue gaze before saying, "Maybe he has a right to be angry, Kate, but he doesn't have a right to put his hands on you without your say so." He had paused, his eyes fiercely focused into mine as he had gently run his thumb over the cut on my bottom lip before angrily continuing, "And he sure as fuck doesn't have a right to work you over like this. I don't give a shit how angry he is-this isn't _ever_ acceptable."

I had quivered under his gaze, feeling more repressed pain flooding forth in the wake of his kindness and support as I had murmured, "I'm so lost, Spot. I don't know what to do. I'm in this hole and I can't get out and I'm so sorry….I'm just so sorry…"

My whimpers had quickly devolved into sputtering sobs again as he had carefully gathered me within his steady hold, whispering into the top of my head, "It's gonna be okay, alright? We'll get you back in order. I'm here, okay? Everything's gonna be okay."

I remember leaning into him, unable to help myself from reveling in the comfort of his smell, his taut chest, but above all else, the tenderness that had been missing during the initiation of our strained conversation. The Spot Conlon I had come to know and care for over our two year friendship had suddenly reappeared in those moments, even in spite of his earlier coldness, and I had just as quickly fallen into the serenity that his presence had always incited within me, no questions asked. The speed with which we had both reverted back to our then lapsed closeness had been astounding, but at the same time had felt so natural-so right-that I hadn't even thought to further explore the strangeness of it.

So, after having allowed me several minutes to better contain my chaotic emotions, Spot had pulled me back gently, grasping my shoulders while concernedly meeting my wet gaze and hesitantly murmuring, "Can I see?"

I had bit into my bottom lip, feeling a fresh surge of shame spread throughout my body, but when I had noted the continued warmth radiating from his stare, I had slowly nodded my consent. And after he had shot me a small reassuring smile, his hands had deftly, though gently, unbuttoned the neck and sleeves of my blouse. He had rolled the arms of my shirt to the elbow, turning first my right, then my left limb carefully over within his hold. And steadily, with the quiet precision of one who had long been versed in tending to others' wounds, he had continued to inspect my arms, neck, and face, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth tightened, but his stare otherwise unreadable. I, however, had found myself wholly averse to the sight of my own exposed skin, shuddering at not only the shocking purple and blue markings along the pale flesh, but also the accompanying flashes of what had caused them.

But, after only a few quiet minutes had passed between us, I had looked back toward Spot's intense gaze when I had heard his tempered mutter of, "Anywhere else?"

His face had been constricted as he had noted my hesitant nod, and our eyes had locked for several more strained moments. But after his jaw had twitched in what I had thought might be anger, he had finally continued, "Anything bad enough that someone should look at it? I can understand if you aren't comfortable with me, but I can go talk to-"

"No," I had quietly, though firmly interrupted him, my cheeks flooding with a fresh flush of embarrassment. His insinuation had been clear, but I had settled myself somewhat upon catching the kind intent that had echoed in its aftermath, pausing for several more moments before stating much more calmly, "Thank you, but I don't think anything is serious enough to have someone look at it."

He had nodded, abruptly severing our contact by taking a quick step back and rubbing his face with his hands as he had inhaled deeply. And strangely, even in the midst of the trauma that had brought me to his proverbial doorstep, I remember watching his movements with a keen interest, his taut arm muscles catching my eye as he had absentmindedly run his hands through his mussed, glinting hair. But the brief flutter that had passed through my body as I had marvelled at the alluring ruggedness of his had quickly mutated into a sharp, consuming ache. And as I had closed my eyes tightly in response to the sudden catch of reality in my chest, I had felt several more tears fall gently onto my cheeks.

" _This is just-just-dammit_."

My wet eyes had popped open at the sound of his voice. And though his statement hadn't been above a whisper, something within his tone had caused me to worriedly meet his stormy stare. There had been a desperateness in the blue depths of his gaze, a mixture of fear and anger in his voice that, at the time, had seemed somewhat out of place in response to my predicament. And when he had quickly stepped toward me, fiercely grasping my shoulders within his hold while saying somewhat louder, "Tell me you understand-tell me you understand that this isn't _ever_ acceptable-that you shouldn't be with _anyone_ who thinks it's okay to do this to you. I need to know that you understand. I need to _see_ that you understand." all I had been able to do was nod slowly, utterly overwhelmed by his uncharacteristic, impassioned plea. But what had been even more alarmingly memorable about that moment was the not so subtle tingling at the back of my mind-a small, nagging feeling that had pushed me to belie his sentiments as having not truly been meant for me in the first place.

And even more than a year after the emotional incident, with Spot's steady stream of caring, committed behavior clearly in mind, I still found my thoughts naturally wandering to the strange timber of his voice that day. But as I stood on the roof of the Brooklyn lodging house looking out into the clear, midday sky beyond, a slow realization began to seep through me-a wave of understanding that converged both the past and present into one, illuminating answer. When Spot had been confronted with the colorful array of abuse on my limbs those long months ago, the unusual appeal that had all but surged forth from within him had most likely been his impulsive and somewhat misguided attempt at confronting his own sordid history of suffering.

It all was so clear to me now as I leaned against the ledge of the roof, slowly unraveling our seemingly countless interactions with this newly apprized sheen. The physical and emotional damage that Spot Conlon had suffered at the hands of his cold and calculating father had certainly left a mark-a plethora of still gaping wounds that had clearly shaped the passive veneer he so naturally donned in his day to day life. But the horrifying depravity that his mother and sister had sustained in turn had seemed to create a much greater level of brokenness within him-a seething pain that could only be quelled by its immediate mutation into a violent, insatiable crusade for justice.

"I can't blame Nellie really," Mary had said as she and Rummy had shared a look across from me at her dining room table two days prior, "Dominic Conlon fooled us all at first. He was handsome and charming-he seemed very much in love with her."

Mary had sat with a hot cup of tea in hand as she had quietly detailed her long-and very involved-history with the Brooklyn leader's family. And in the hours following his abrupt departure from the lodging house, I had found myself silently absorbing every minute detail of her account-shaken to my very core at the tragic horror that had defined most of Spot's formative years.

But the tale had shockingly begun with a young Nellie Finn, a pitiable heroine if ever there was one, years before Spot Conlon had even been a spark of potentiality in the universe. His mother, having been orphaned shortly after her family had immigrated to America, had been immediately incorporated into the O'Connel's home without question.

"She couldn't have been more than twelve, and within a month both of her parents were gone," Mary had stated quietly, a darkness clouding her usually bright, green eyes before she had slowly continued, "I made a vow to her mother that I would look after her as my own-that I would keep her safe."

Thus, Mary had raised Nellie with the loving compassion she had never been able to bestow on a child of her own and for the next several years, their lives had moved forward without any further complication.

"She was such a bright light-a happy, sweet girl. So beautiful and kind, but also in some ways," Mary had let out a deep sigh before whispering, "So very delicate."

Mary and her husband had attempted to give Nellie all of the opportunities that their somewhat meager incomes could afford-a chance at an education, a modest wardrobe, a consistent roof over her head, and a full stomach every night.

"At one point, she even began to train under me as a midwife," Mary had added with a slight smile before more seriously continuing, "But the time came when the sweet girl we had originally taken into our home started blossoming into the beautiful woman she was always meant to be-and people began to take notice."

Nellie had entertained several different suitors under the O'Connel's supervision, but one had always stood out amongst the rest.

"Dominic Conlon was determined to win Nellie over," Mary had murmured with a glint of regret in her eyes. "He was clever and charming, and so dashingly handsome that it didn't take long for her to be utterly smitten with him."

And so, following a short courtship, Nellie and Dominic had married, having Spot less than a year after their nuptials.

"She seemed so happy at first that I hardly noticed how quickly things were crumbling out from under her. Part of me thinks that she knew just how despicable Dominic could be, even from the beginning, but-she just didn't want to believe it."

Upon having her daughter Emily a little over two years after Spot had been born, Nellie's typically frequent visits to the O'Connel's had abruptly ended.

"We stopped seeing her all together. Even when we went to visit her and the children several times after that, no one would answer the door."

However, although Mary had been filled with unease about the sudden severance of communication, she had allowed for the possibility that Nellie was simply settling into her new roles as mother and wife.

"I had decided to give her space-some time to acclimate herself to everything. I had always assumed that if something truly had been wrong, she would have come to us."

But Mary had wholly underestimated the violent influence that Dominic had so easily utilized over Nellie.

"It always starts with words. And if those words are numbing enough, they pave the way for unchecked actions."

Eventually, Mary had not even been able to keep an eye on Nellie and the children from afar, for within the next year she had found that the Conlon's had suddenly moved from their apartment. And during the following several years she had heard nothing more from Nellie.

"I didn't even know where to start looking for them. It was a terribly frightful time. And all I could do was just wait-sit there and continue to not know."

But, when things had begun to seem utterly hopeless in regards to ever seeing Nellie and the children again, Mary had received an urgent message from her adoptive daughter begging for help.

"Apparently there had been an altercation between Thomas and his father-a means of protecting his mother and sister I was told," Mary had whispered emotionally, a sudden tremor passing through her hands as she haphazardly set her cup down and shakily continued, "Thomas had barely been ten years old at the time-and Dominic had almost killed him."

Thus, after Dominic had exited the apartment in a blinding rage, Nellie had finally reached out to Mary, beseeching her to take her badly injured son before her husband could return and do any more damage.

"And that's when she finally allowed me to see the true horror that she had been living in-for years at that point."

Nellie had not even been recognizable when Mary had answered her call for help that day, with Emily planted as a silent shadow behind her mother's skirts and Spot crumpled into a bloody heap upon the floor. But even with Mary's fierce pleas for Nellie and Emily to come back with her as well, Nellie had vehemently refused, insisting that she and Emily would be better off if they stayed.

"She said Thomas and Dominic butted heads-that if Thomas were to find a different place to stay for a while things would calm down-get better," Mary had said stonily, scoffing somewhat as she had muttered, "As if the child was somehow responsible for his grown father's actions."

So, with no further ideas of how to convince Nellie to leave, Mary had taken charge of Spot, nursing him back to health while also attempting to soothe some of the raw emotional wounds he had sustained.

"He was such a serious boy. It was as if all the youth had been repeatedly beaten out of him until all that was left was just this tiny, fragile shell of humanity," Mary had whispered with a shake of her head.

And for nearly two years, Spot had resided with Mary, aiding her in running the newsboys lodging house she and her husband had taken over several years before.

"I assumed his silence was a means of recovery," Mary had murmured thoughtfully. "I mistook his quiet for calm. And it's so clear to me now that I should have engaged him during those two years-reached out to him instead of giving him so much space. I'm almost certain that it might have been enough to prevent what happened next."

Spot had been hellbent on exacting revenge-punishing Dominic for the long list of atrocities he had committed against his family, while also finally freeing his mother and sister from his father's malicious clutches.

"I feel that Thomas didn't fully grasp the true dynamic between Nellie and Dominic. But I suppose it's hard for children to understand that sometimes people make the _choice_ to stay in a terrible situation. He had this idea of his father as some type of monstrous captor, caging in Nellie and Emily so that they were unable to escape. But the reality was that Nellie remained there very much of her own volition."

One day, in lieu of selling papers, Spot had gone to the shipyard where his father had just been finishing up a night shift. He had waited patiently for Dominic to separate himself from the other men filing off of the docks, and then he had cornered his father on a secluded street and shot him.

"I didn't think-" Mary had begun quietly, pausing for a moment to clear the emotional gravel from her voice before saying slightly louder, "I didn't think to lock the chest with Mr. O'Connel's revolver in it. Once he had passed, I tried to avoid his things all together for a while. It hadn't even occurred to me that Thomas would have known about it."

But, Spot's reckless act of violence had yielded none of the results that he had initially hoped for.

"Dominic survived the injury. But I think what really sent Thomas spiraling was that Nellie not only severed all contact with her son following the incident, but also took Dominic in and nursed him back to health."

Mary had felt that, in some ways, the only reason that Spot's fractured sense of self had been at all salvageable at that point, even after the violent episode and its tragic aftermath, had been the fact that he had not succeeded in killing his father as he had planned.

"That's not to say that there weren't many months where he grappled with his darker tendencies," Mary had said matter-of-factly, as she and Rummy had shared another knowing look. "He was so very angry-so very warped by first Dominic's abuse and then Nellie's abandonment, that he began to lash out-at everyone."

Spot had built quite the ruthless reputation for himself during his early teen years in response to his familial dysfunction, seeking out conflict in any and all of his interactions as a way to steel himself against the pain that was likely tearing apart his insides.

"So what stopped him then?"

The question had slipped out of my mouth before I had even realized I had wanted to ask it, causing both Mary and Rummy to face me in surprise. But Mary had quickly recovered as she had stated definitively, "Dominic had always been such a troubled, empty man beneath all his charming vibrato that his final, heinous attack on Nellie, Emily, and then himself seemed to shock Thomas back to himself again." She had paused, staring intently into my gaze before continuing solidly, "Thomas may look like his father, he may even feel the same disturbing darkness churning within him that his father did, but he has never fed it like Dominic did-he does not find joy in other's pain. And, that alone is one of the hardest, most admirable things any one person can do."

I had found myself nodding, unsure of what, if any, kind of response the emotional story had required. It had certainly opened my eyes to the layered reasoning within all of Spot's decisions while also allowing me to truly have a glimpse into the pain that he must still be carrying around within him. But, on a deeper level, this understanding had given way to something that had caused an even greater insecurity to fill me. For when I had set about further examining the real motivations that had most likely steered Spot Conlon into my path, time and again, I hadn't been able to ignore the clear parallels that existed between me and his mother. And that had been a very sobering reality with which I had spent the prior two days struggling.

"He'll come back, y'know."

I nearly screamed in fright as Rummy's voice softly interrupted my distracted reverie, jerking my head to face the tall boy who now stood next to me against the ledge.

I took a deep breath to steady myself, noting somewhat irritably how Rummy chuckled at my start. But, I merely rolled my eyes at his childishness before more seriously replying, "It's been two days, Rummy. Aren't you even a little concerned that maybe you or one of the boys should start to look for him?"

I raised my eyebrows at him expectantly, but upon seeing the nonchalant shrug he rolled my way, I couldn't help but cross my arms over my chest and groan in further annoyance. However, Rummy, ever the cooler head during times of stress, merely pulled a half-smoked cigarette out of his breast pocket, lighting it and taking a generous inhale before he slowly replied, "I have an idea or two about where he might be-more than likely the same places he always goes when he gets like this. But I ain't gonna lose any sleep over it. Specially 'cause I sent Flit after 'im when I saw him runnin' out the lodging house early that mornin'."

I looked back toward Rummy with tempered surprise, somewhat impressed by his natural ability to see several moves ahead of the curve. Yet, he simply gave me a half-hearted smile in return, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and squeezing gently as he murmured, "Chin up, kid. I suspect it won't be long now that we'll either hear from Flit or see Spot."

But I shrugged him off, a pang of insecurity again reverberating in my gut as Nellie Conlon's ominous biography supplanted every other thought running through my mind, causing me to mutter darkly, "Maybe I'm the one who should leave. I clearly caused all of this."

Rummy squinted at me, cocking his head before emphatically stating, "No. You didn't."

I scoffed, meeting his steady gaze as I sharply replied, "Come on, Rummy. You of all people should be able to see what it is he's trying to do with me-what I am to him. Whether he's conscious of it or not is beside the point."

Rummy stared at me quietly for a moment, his eyes startlingly intense and focused. But he abruptly severed our contact, nodding to himself as he murmured, "I can see where you'd get that be honest, when I first found out about him pursuin' you all those years ago, I had a similar thought."

I widened my eyes in genuine shock, having completely expected his vehement denial of my speculative assumptions. And once Rummy noticed my newly attentive state, he took another deep drag off his cigarette before continuing, "At the time, I thought you were just like all the other ones who were always flocking around him. And I figured it'd end the same way it always does-he'd lose interest, get bored, feel suffocated and that'd be that. He'd set his sights on plenty of damsels in distress before you, and I was sure there'd be plenty new ones to take your place when he was done. But it wasn't until I saw the two a' you together that I realized how wrong I really had it."

"What do you mean?" I asked with honest curiosity, narrowing my gaze toward him in keen interest.

"Well, I had an inkling that there was more to it after he sent Flit to keep an eye on you, but it was somethin' in particular he did that really made me sure." He shook his head as he took another quick puff off his smoke, meeting my stare before he continued, "Like I said before, the crap he's pullin' right now, it ain't the first time he's done somethin' like this-far from it. But there was one time where he got himself real bad off. See, normally, he'll go hole up someplace alone an' drink himself unconscious. Then he'll sleep it off and eventually make his way back over here. But the time I'm talking about, things were different, an' it made me realize just how important you were to him."

I shook my head incredulously, saying, "What are you talking about, Rummy? How was it different?"

He smiled lightly, taking one last drag off his cigarette before flicking it off the ledge and saying, "You remember the night a' that party when he was so fuckin' drunk he couldn't even keep himself upright and you took him back to your parents' place to sober up?" he paused momentarily to secure a nod of understanding from me before he continued, "Well, he had no intention of even goin' to that party to begin with. He barked at all of us to 'leave him the hell alone' an' brought one of Mary's whiskey bottles up to the attic. And I had every intention of leavin' him be, but when he came back down again and I saw how bad off he was, I followed 'im, thinkin' he had really lost it this time. He don't usually venture out when he gets like that. An' after he headed over the bridge into Manhattan, I realized that he wasn't just aimlessly wandering about or headin' to that party for more drink. He was lookin' for _you_ , Kate. He was hurtin' and he knew he'd be safe with you."

I shook my head, completely underwhelmed by his reasoning, but Rummy sighed before saying somewhat irritably, "Look, you ain't no damsel in distress, Kate. You know it, I know it, and he knows it too. And for Spot, it was never about savin' you. Even when you went missin', it wasn't about savin' you the same way he tried to save his ma. That ain't what drew him to you at first, and it sure as shit wasn't what got him to keep going back. Of that I'm certain."

"Then what was it?" I challenged, watching warily as Rummy leaned his back against the ledge to face me, crossing his arms over his chest and fiercely meeting my gaze.

"You're impressive as hell, Kate. An' it didn't take long for Spot to figure that out," Rummy said solidly. "He's always had a good sense about people and I think when he spent time with you, he knew pretty quickly that he had stumbled on somethin' really special."

I couldn't help the scoff that emitted from me as I rolled my eyes and muttered, "You honestly expect me to believe that? Please don't pander to me, Rummy. I'm not vain or unrealistic enough for that old trope to really mean something."

"Fine, would some specifics make you finally see sense?" Rummy snapped back, pushing forward with his sentiments even despite my unimpressed shrug. "You've never been helpless or weak-you don't play that defenseless female card, sometimes at your own peril. You've always been insistent on takin' care of yourself, and you never _were_ lookin' for approval from anyone-especially not Spot. You're clever an' curious-probably in some ways even smarter than he is, an' you see things that most other people would probly miss, just like him. Really, you're the first girl he's ever encountered that didn't actually _need_ anything from him...validation or protection or attention or- well the list goes on and on. The point is that, with you, he was finally able to just...I dont know….just _be_."

Rummy's normally calm and collected facade had morphed into an intense, almost impassioned, display. But I felt an instinctual resistance formulate within me at his words-a pressing need to prove him wrong and show him the true nature of things between myself and Spot.

"I'm still not seeing why it mattered that he was looking for me that night in Manhattan," I stated matter-of-factly, steeling myself against the little tremor of hope that made its way through my body in light of Rummy's statements.

Rummy continued to stare steadily at me as he firmly responded, "It _mattered_ because, before that night, Spot Conlon had never reached out to nobody for nothin'. And that _means_ somethin', Kate." He paused, taking a deep breath before muttering, "He was so fuckin' wrecked walkin' into Manhattan that he could barely remember his own goddamned name, but there was somethin' in him, some kinda' instinct that made him feel like he had to go to you."

Rummy stared at me expectantly, almost daring me to contradict what he had shared. But I couldn't help the natural hesitancy that still filled me, causing me to turn my head away from his stare and quietly counter, "Well then why did he lie to me? Why didn't he tell me the story that night himself?"

Rummy's stance deflated somewhat as he sighed exasperatedly before saying, "Look, Kate, if you wanna pick apart all the shit he's done to try and find proof that he don't care about you, I'm sure there's plenty of examples that you can twist every which way to make it so." He stopped, waiting until my eyes met his again before he harshly continued, "If you don't wanna stick around for him 'cause you really don't care about him, that's your call to make. But, if you're thinkin' about leavin' 'cause you're scared ta even try, well," Rummy shook his head and quietly muttered, "then I'm real disappointed in you, Kate."

But before I had even a moment to respond to his challenges, he groaned irritably and abruptly pushed himself away from the ledge, quickly shuffling off the roof and once again leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I sighed as well, overwhelmed with feelings of self-doubt and indecision. Perhaps Rummy had been right about Spot's true intentions, but how was I in any way qualified to orchestrate the task of bringing him back to himself? He had suffered greatly, and no one phrase of support or care seemed to be effective enough at reaching him through his pain. And really, what would keep him from running away again? Was I expected to endure his repeated abandonment with only the hope that it might one day stop? And if he really wanted to be with me, wouldn't he want to stay?

 _He was lookin' for you, Kate._

Rummy's words echoed meaningfully within my thoughts, interrupting the spiral of insecurity that had almost taken over. But, with another heavy sigh, I shook my head, attempting to clear my mind of the multitude of conflicting emotions that only seemed to cause me more confusion. Perhaps, like Spot, my instincts would be a far better determinant of how I should best proceed if and when I finally had to face him again.

And, almost immediately, I had had the chance to test out this idea, for early the next morning, I was awakened by a loud thumping that echoed throughout the landing between Mary's apartment and the boys' bunkroom. I hastily wrapped my dressing gown about me, tired and worried about what could be causing the commotion. But as I opened the door, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes and saying, "What the hell is going on out here?" I was immediately startled to hear a familiar voice say my name.

"What's Kate doin' 'ere, fellas?" Spot slurred from between Rummy and Flit's forms.

I inhaled sharply as I looked him over, his clothes filthy, his hair unkempt and dirty, and his eyes red and puffy.

"C'mon, Spot. We needta get you into the washroom," Rummy said softly as he and Flit took another heaving step forward.

And before I even knew what I was doing, I said clearly, "Bring him into Mary's washroom. I'll handle it from here."

Rummy only stared at me for a moment before giving Flit a look and saying, "Alright. You heard the lady."

And I almost thought I could see Rummy nod approvingly in my direction as I held the apartment door open for them to pull Spot through.


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

Something was wrong.

Spot felt his breath catch within his chest as bright sunlight abruptly illuminated the space around him, an old brick building's open rooftop immediately settling into the forefront of his view. There was an odd familiarity about the dirty pavillion he now looked upon-a tingling flash of hazy memories that were much too disjointed for him to place together in any meaningful way. Yet when his gritty eyes cleared enough for him to discern the slim figure of a woman, motionless amidst the swaying laundry lines in the foreground, his present location seemed suddenly undeniable. He floundered in momentary disbelief, unable to make sense of the presumably delusive scene quickly unfolding before him. But as his strangely lifeless body somehow inched ever nearer to the woman's form, her auburn hair shining brightly in the warm summer glow while her blue eyes turned toward him, he knew with an unmistakable certainty that it was his mother, Nellie Conlon.

"Why have you come here?" she demanded, her voice echoing eerily in the air around them as her eyes narrowed at him in concern.

He stared into her troubled face, looking deep into the piercing sapphire orbs that matched his own. But, almost as if his mouth had been forcibly stitched shut, he found himself unable to respond to her unsettling query. He could see she was displeased-unhappy that he had dared to be so near to her. Yet even with the warning timbre rippling in her voice and the coldness emanating from her gaze, he felt his body continue to close the distance between them, as though his limbs had no say over their own forward motion.

"I've told you to stay away from this place."

Her voice hardened in further consternation as Spot found himself only inches away from her stiff body, fighting with all his strength to reach out and grasp her delicate hand in his own just one more time. But his limbs remained immovable, an emptiness strikingly evident in the small space between them.

"You're no longer welcome here," she snapped after several more quiet moments passed. Her eyes flashed with anger, but as she began to turn away from him, Spot alarmingly noted a strange black smoke steadily wisping over the building's brick overlay and through the hanging lines surrounding them.

He tried to reach out, to scream her name into the darkening space, but found her form quickly enveloped within the billowing shadows. And soon, he too was forced into the cold obscurity, his body paralyzed by its immediate detachment. But even with the flash of terror that initially filled him in response to this forced passivity, a tiredness pervaded, like a numbing drug, wiping away not only his fear, but also every other emotion or thought he had held only moments before. And in the following silent minutes, he found himself gradually warming to the jolting transformation as he allowed his mind to dull and his limbs to remain unresponsive-finally ceding himself fully to the void. He no longer wished to fight-to struggle for anything that might lay beyond the blackness-he merely hoped to fade away, as his mother had before him, with no further resistance.

 _You aren't alone._

Spot started, choking out a deep, rasping cough as Kate's emotional words echoed clearly throughout the suffocating hole. And when his body habitually jolted into further awareness as well, his numb fingers and toes trembling in sudden restoration, he felt a slow anxiety begin to fill him-an unwillingness to relinquish the painful, but recognizable space in which he now resided.

 _You can trust me._

Yet his blatant evasion of Kate's initial statement proved ultimately futile as her voice again harshly penetrated into the all-consuming blackness. And this time, an even stronger wave of sentience flowed throughout him-his limbs further stimulated by the melodic resonance of her words. But a lurking unease remained present within the void-the nothingness around him seeming to almost come alive in opposition to her call. Thus in swift contradiction, he felt the darkness violently counteract Kate's summons, pressing down upon his body and pulling him further into the suffocating emptiness.

 _Because I love you._

And without a moment's pause, Kate's voice resonated around Spot for a third time, piercing into the space like a thundering battle cry. He felt his body abruptly solidify in response, the chains of numbness finally fully dissolving into naught. But he immediately struggled within this new found awareness as his eyes popped open and watered against the blinding light above him. His head pounded in protest, his limbs aching against the immediate tension he contracted them into while he attempted to grapple with the full force of his own consciousness. But before he could completely take in the sharpening images surrounding him, he felt an urgent wave of nausea overtake his body, barely able to lift his head as he wretched blindly to the side.

Yet even in the midst of his shaking dysphoria, he became immediately attuned to a set of soft fingers stroking away the sweaty strands of hair plastering onto his brow as he heard the muffled statement of, "... sick...fever….need some blankets...glass of water…"

But almost immediately, the voice swiftly subsided even further into the blurring background ambience as another, more violent surge of sickness forced its way out of his mouth. Yet, within the same breath, he again felt comforted by the cooling touch along his forehead and cheek, a voice simultaneously murmuring, "You're going to be okay. I've got you now."

And even as his body again devolved into the feverish spasming that seemed utterly inescapable in that moment, he stymied his frantic urge to fight back. The soft fingertips that ran over his face and body seemed to soothe an anguish far deeper than the soreness of his beleaguered limbs. And so he fell into the stillness, relishing in the now harmless dark space as the blinding light above him slowly began to dim into nothingness once more.

* * *

I felt a sharp worry fill my body as I aided Spot in leaning over my room's basin to vomit for a second time, wiping the wet hair from his brow gently as he groaned in the painful aftermath. His usually tan face was pale and damp, and his squinting blue eyes were alarmingly bloodshot. I grasped his hand solidly in my own, wholly dismayed by his limb's trembling response, before snapping my head around to face the stony stances of Rummy and Flit again.

"I can't believe you thought it was ok to let him get to this point before bringing him back!" I hissed as I relinquished my grip on Spot to push myself up and take several purposeful steps toward the boys.

I clenched my hands into tight fists, feeling somewhat surprised at the sudden level of protective rage pulsing throughout my system. When I had originally glanced at Spot's form in the darkened hallway nearly ten minutes before, he had looked dirty and inebriated, but otherwise likely to be back to a normal functioning level within a day or two. However, after the boys had lain him on my bed in the clearer light of the dawn, I had been able to inspect the true extent of damage he had inflicted upon himself over the several days that had passed. And, it had been wholly worrisome, if not downright alarming.

His body was a trembling mess-feverish and drained, and from the complete incoherency he was presenting with, I knew he had undoubtedly been in that state for much longer than he probably should have.

Thus, I turned my attention back to the Brooklynites in front of me, shaking my head as I irritably muttered, "Honestly, I could kill both of you!"

The smaller boy appeared intimidated by my visceral ire as he backed away, holding his hands up in surrender while saying, " Kate, I was just following him...givin him space like I always have. I was just doing what I'm s'posed to-what I'm _told_ ta do-that's all."

I had softened my gaze only slightly toward Flit, muttering, "Well, as much as 'I did it because I was told to' isn't really a winning defense, I'll allow it, because I know it was really him," I snapped my gaze back to Rummy's casually leaning form before finishing, "who was calling these idiotic shots anyway."

But Rummy merely shrugged, a passivity taking over his gaze as he quickly responded, "Look, this is what he does, Kate. It's how he's gotten through it for years now, and I ain't about to stand in the way of him comin' to terms with his demons as he sees fit."

"This," I shot back as I pointed to Spot's shaking form on the bed behind me, "Is not catharsis, Rummy. It's just plain old, self-destructive stupidity. And from here on out, _I'll_ be the one who decides the acceptable level of injury Spot should sustain before someone puts a stop to it-not you." I paused as I noted Rummy's raised eyebrows and irritable frown, a look of hurt passing through his gaze in the wake of my harsh accusations. So, softening my voice, I slowly continued, "For now, we need to get him cleaned up and hydrated. He's got a bit of a fever but I think some rest, real food, and water will probably put him right again."

Rummy's stare held steadily onto mine as I widened my eyes intently. But, instead of gearing up for the second round of shots I assumed he was preparing, he simply nodded in response and muttered, "Alright. C'mon, Flit. Go light the stove an' get the water ready. I'll find some spare towels in Mary's linen closet."

And as I began to turn my attention back toward Spot's trembling body, I jolted a bit when Rummy gently grasped my arm in his large hand, squeezing softly before meeting my gaze and saying, "As much as I'm not keen on the school marm lecture you seem hellbent on givin' me," he paused, his lips upturning into a genuine smile before he softly continued, "I sure am glad he's finally found someone worthy enough to lean on. He's one lucky sonavabitch, Kate, and don't think he doesn't know it."

I stayed quiet for a moment, feeling an immense emotionality fill me before I softly replied, "I'm only treating him the way I would anyone I care about."

Rummy nodded, murmuring, "You're a catch, kid, and don't you forget it."

And with a brief smile and another quick squeeze of my arm, Rummy released me and began making his way to the bathroom to aid Flit as I turned my attention back to the shivering mess of a man in my bedroom.

I gingerly knelt down beside his form, running my fingers gently over his face as I grasped one of his hands in mine and murmured for his ears only, "You're going to be okay. I've got you now."

* * *

Spot Conlon had never before in his life experienced the simultaneous surge of both joy and fear that had wholly taken over his body in the aftermath of Kate's amorous profession several days prior. Her beautiful face had been so earnest, her eyes so piercingly sincere, that his mind had only been able to idle in response. And thus, in the wake of his stalled logic, every ounce of emotion he had felt in turn had habitually funneled itself into the visceral, chaotic reaction that had resulted.

Her presence had always caused a sense of wantonness to ensue from within him-a naturally unbridled response to her verdant spirit and accessible emotionality. But, invariably, he had also kept these moments as fleeting and restrained as possible, unsure of himself and his nature in this uncharted territory of emotional liberation. Truthfully, Kate's companionship had been a wholly novel experience for him, one to which he had instinctively been averse, but also, at the same time, strangely compelled. And as she had become not only a permanent fixture in his physical domain, but also a cherished, irreplaceable partner in his life, he had attempted to assuage the lurking ominous thoughts that were always present, warning of the potential darkness that could easily slip through his now open emotional floodgates as well.

And so, in lieu of all the carefully crafted control he had consistently wielded over himself up to that point, he had allowed only his body to govern his passionate response that night, thus resulting in the markings on her body that he found himself unable to ignore. He had hurt her in those unrestrained minutes of physicality, his potential for violence clearly manifesting on her smooth skin, and as he had lain in wakeful angst next to her form in the hours following, he could think of nothing safer to do than remove himself entirely, at least until he had established some semblance of control around her again.

But as the days had passed, his forced solitude had begun to morph into an even further distemperment, the alcohol he eventually partook in only adding to this turmoil. He had felt physically ill from the conundrum he had found himself in-mentally fractured from the forceful pull he felt to Kate but also the fear that he would only cause more damage if he succumbed to it.

Which was why, in part, when he had awakened in Mary's spare bed after what could have been hours or days of fever-induced delirium, spying Kate's sleeping form on the floor next to him, he had immediately made the necessary preparations to leave before she even had the chance to engage him.

He could tell from the hazy, grey light peaking through the bedroom window that dawn was nearing, and so as quietly and carefully as possible, he slipped past Kate's still form, feeling thankful for the clean undershirt and pants that she had clearly changed him into at some point, while also keeping his eyes open for the potential whereabouts of his shoes. And within a few minutes of looking through the darkened living area, he spotted his worn boots next to Mary's chair, bending over to swiftly pull them on.

"You're going to need this if you're heading up to the attic."

Spot froze as the familiar voice pierced through the silent space around him, managing to shakily knot his second shoe before apprehensively turning toward Kate's still form in the hall archway. He felt a surge of guilt immediately pulse through him as he met her purposeful gaze, noting the metal glint of his St. Jude pendant and key necklace that she held in her outstretched hand.

He found himself only able to nod in response, unsure of his own voice or what his next potential move should be. But Kate simply took several steps nearer to him, saying, "I took it off when you were vomiting the other night-it kept getting tangled up and I figured it would just be one less thing to clean in the end."

She casually tossed the chains to him, crossing her arms over her chest as he deftly caught them and nodded slowly, offering an awkward, "Thanks." in return.

He stood there tensely for several more quiet moments, befuddled by her unexpected, though gentle, intrusion, all the while doing his best to avoid any and all eye contact with her. He could see the clear signs of exhaustion on her body-from her wrinkled skirts and untucked shirt to the puffy, dark circles so noticeably smudged beneath her bright eyes-markers that she had doubtlessly lost some much needed rest from the added strain of his care. And this sudden realization caused an even deeper ache of shame to resonate within Spot, compacting upon the multitude of other wrongs he had committed against Kate over the prior several days.

But he lifted his head to stare at her as she softly continued, "I think it'd be pretty hypocritical for me to ever play the role of captor anyway, don't you think?"

She offered him a brief smile, her eyes, however, reflecting a much deeper set of emotions. And, almost as if her voice had held the ability to cleanse his heavy spirit of its transgressions, Spot felt suddenly lighter and immediately pulled to her powerful compassion-wanting with all his might to throw caution to the wind and feel her body within his arms again. But the corresponding wave of turmoil that passed through him almost simultaneously-flashing the disturbing images of his fingerprints bruised into her thighs, caused him to stiffen and turn swiftly from her, muttering, "I'm not sure of all that happened over the last few days, but thank you for takin' care of me regardless. I really appreciate all you've done. Now, I just need to make my way to the docks and get the next few weeks' schedules straight so-"

"You know, I'm not about to to hold you hostage in a relationship you don't want either," Kate solidly interrupted, causing him to turn back toward her in surprise, meeting her steady gaze as she continued, "I have no interest in being with someone that feels nothing for me-sees no value in my companionship."

Her words reverberated within him painfully as he reflexively dissented, "Kate...that's not-that's not how-" He paused, however, sighing in frustration at his seemingly ridiculous inability to properly relay his thoughts to her. But again feeling the surge of uncontrollable fervor attempting to pulse forward, he straightened himself, clenching his emotions tightly within his grasp as he responded somewhat stoically, "The fact that I want to be with you has nothing to do with whether I _should_ be with you-or anyone really."

But Kate merely shook her head dismissively, unmoved by his sentiments as she responded, "I didn't say that because I think you don't want to be with me, Spot. I said it because I need you to know that I could and would walk away if I ever felt your treatment of me was wanting-and I never have." She paused, taking a small step nearer to him before continuing, "I know my worth-mostly because you were always so insistent that I see it. I guess I just didn't realize until now how much you've needed me to do the same for you."

Her tone was firm but quiet-her words incisively to the point. And when she looked toward him in silent wait for his reply, he again felt the surging turmoil threatening to boil over from within him, as he agitatedly ran his hands through his hair and stuttered, "Kate, that's not-that's so far from the point-"

But she again cut in, strongly asserting, "Well then what is the point, Spot?"

He stared at her wide-eyed, the chaos within him nearly brimming forth before he clenched his fists at his side and hissed, "There were _bruises_ , Katherine." He paused as he noted her mouth opening to interrupt him for a third time, swiftly cutting her off as he continued, "I put bruises on you. _I_ did that."

Kate sighed, uncrossing her arms in frustration as she asserted, "Yes, there were bruises, but-"

However, Spot glared at her, interrupting harshly, "No! No buts, Kate. I hurt you, do you understand that? I lost control and the result was that you were hurt, and that's not something I can ever let happen again." He stopped for a moment, pleading with his eyes for her to understand, for her to see the reality of their situation, but she merely shook her head stubbornly, causing him to darkly continue, "I _won't_ let that happen again, even if that means removing myself from the equation completely."

Her stare was steady as she evenly responded, "That's a pretty drastic response, especially considering the multitude of other factors I know you aren't taking into account."

He felt irritation fill him at her seemingly unshakeable persistence, sighing before muttering with a lilt of sarcasm, "Like what?"

But she again remained unruffled, easily meeting his harsh gaze as she said, "Like the fact that I wanted you to touch me that way-that I pushed for it." His eyes widened as she clearly enunciated, "That I _liked_ it."

He scoffed, shocked by her frank admission, but also angered by the hopeful flutter that it incited within him before he responded, "Kate, please-"

Yet, undeterred, she pressed forward, ignoring his irritable protest as she continued, "Or that we both know if I _had_ felt at all uncomfortable and asked you to stop, you would have."

He stared at her in utter disbelief, outraged by her purposeful neglect of his sound reasoning. And so, after meeting her defiant gaze with a steeliness in his own, he rigidly replied, "There's no way you can know that, Kate. I wasn't myself that night-I was out of control."

She stared unblinkingly back at him, calmly asserting, "There are plenty of ways I know that. Like how, the first time you even thought about kissing me, you asked my permission before you did it. Not to mention the months you slept by my side and didn't once try to make any advances on me-you even repeatedly turned _me_ down because you said you could tell I wasn't ready." She paused, widening her eyes in sincerity before continuing with a more gentle tone, "You aren't some sadistic monster, Spot-that's never how you've treated women, regardless of your casual intentions with them. And honestly, that night-being with you like that-" she allowed her lips to upturn into a soft smile as she murmured, "It was the closest I've ever felt to you. You weren't holding back for once. You were letting me in-finally letting me see everything. And it just makes me know I should be with you that much more."

But Spot felt anything but encouraged by her sentiments as his head nearly exploded with incredulity, almost yelling, "You've got to be out of your mind, Kate! I bruised you-"

"No," Kate cut in firmly, narrowing her gaze at him as she took another step forward and said, "You made love to me. You did things I wanted with my full permission and participation. It's not fair to categorize it as anything else."

Spot could almost feel something within him snap at her infuriatingly calm dissent. He saw red pulsating throughout his vision as he ran his hands through his hair again and furiously stuttered, "Fair? I just-I don't understand-God-I just-dammit, Kate!" He stomped his foot in frustration, turning toward her hollowly as he hoarsely posed, "Don't you see that I could hurt you? Don't you understand that?"

He stood there shaking in exasperation, staring into her still unflustered expression, furious with himself for again failing to remain collected in her presence. He felt his pulse racing, pressing a hand to his head as a means of calming his overly ruffled feathers.

But after only a few minutes of silence passed between them, Spot looked back towards Kate's still form as he heard her say softly, "Of course I know you could hurt me, Spot."

He stared at her, dumbfounded by her sudden concession. Her eyes focused into his with a heaviness that he was somewhat taken aback by as she crossed her arms over her chest and looked to the side for a moment. But before he was able to voice his relief, she tucked a stray hair behind her ear and pushed forward somewhat louder, "I'm a clever girl, living in a space that has forever been governed by the vacillating wants of men. And if there's one thing of which I am undeniably certain, it's that this world has little concern for whatever pain or pleasure I, as a woman, may incur at its will."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise, her fierce statements resonating with such force that all he could do was stare at her beautiful face in wait, absorbing her continued sentiments as she forcibly pressed on, "So, really, if you wanted to, Spot, you could inflict far more damage than just a few accidental bruises on my body and probably walk away with little or no consequence. You're much bigger and stronger than I am, and you could easily overpower me and make me do whatever you wanted. You wouldn't be the first man in the history of civilization that's used his brute strength to bend a woman to his will-you wouldn't even be the first in _my_ history that's done it."

She stared meaningfully at him, her green eyes shining with candor as she pushed another stray curl away from her face and murmured, "But I know with every ounce of my being that you would never purposefully cause me pain. It's not in you to be so flagrantly ruthless-so cruel. And on that I'd stake my life."

But he severed their eye contact as he closed his eyes, shaking his head in continued protest before muttering, "How can you say that-knowing everything I've done-the people I've hurt-almost killed?" He lifted his pained gaze to meet hers again, continuing, "How can you be so sure of the one thing that I'm the most _unsure_ of?"

She nodded at his statement, looking away momentarily and asking, "How did it feel?"

He physically jolted in confusion as her question rang out into the empty room, only managing to whisper a halting, "What?"

She breathed slowly out of her nose, squinting purposely toward him as she restated, "How did it feel-inside you? How did it feel when you used all the anger you had about what happened with your family to control the people around you?"

He stared silently at her, processing her query in the quiet minutes that followed for the layered probing that it really was. But as much as he wanted to fight against her calm insistence, he found himself sighing, turning his face away from hers before muttering darkly, "I felt sick."

"Have you done it since?"

His eyes found her bright, though tired ones once more as he clenched his jaw in attempted passivity, replying, "I've only gotten physical with people when I thought it was necessary." Yet, after another short pause, he found himself preempting Kate's potential conclusion as he more animatedly sputtered, "But that's not the point-the point is that-well that I could do it again. Come on, Kate-you have to understand what I'm saying-you have to see it too."

His final statement had been softer, a plea carried forth by the overwhelming weariness he could feel settling so forcefully into his body again. He looked to Kate in desperation, seeing her understanding, but also her maintained indignance. And so he sighed, running his hands over his face in utter exasperation-at a complete loss for how to move forward.

"Look, Spot, I can see you're clearly not ready to have this conversation with me-and I understand that."

His eyes snapped to Kate's in astonishment-her unexpected statement and laxed stance throwing Spot into an even higher state of confoundment. But he silently watched her as she rubbed her hands roughly over her own face before continuing, "I just-" she paused meeting his stare once more as she stated with a mixed intonation of emotions, "I just want you to know that sometimes the people that are supposed to take care of us don't. Sometimes they're the ones that do the most damage. And it's awful and unacceptable, but sometimes-that's just how the cards fall."

Her phrasing felt like a physical hit to Spot's gut and he backed away from her shakily before she quickly continued, "What your father did to you, and your mother and sister was-monstrous." She paused staring purposefully at him as he felt himself backing even further away from her words, shaking his head at her finished statement of, "But you're allowed some moments of growth, Spot-some time to sort through everything-to figure out your place in where you came from and how things ended. The last thing you should do, though, is begrudge yourself for any grieving that you've needed to come to terms with all of it."

He stared hollowly at her, unable to process the multitude of roaring emotions that churned about his insides, a nausea passing through him in their wake. And as much as he wanted to allow himself the catharsis of immediately releasing all of the pain that swirled within him, he clamped down fiercely against it, solidifying his body as armor to obstruct her stirring words before murmuring emptily, "What do you want from me, Kate?"

She met his eyes steadily, whispering in response, "I want you to know you're safe with me. I want you to let me help you sort through all of this on your terms when you're ready to talk."

He stared into her face momentarily, unsure of any meaningful way to respond to her tender statements. But she simply breathed in deeply, offering him a half-smile before saying, "Go. I'll be here when you get back."

And after nodding shortly in response, he turned away from her as he muttered quickly, "I'm going down to the docks to get my schedule. Tell Mary not to hold any dinner for me, and tell Rummy not to wait up."

He looked toward her once more, feeling a plethora of emotions at her caring, patient gaze, and then he walked purposefully out of Mary's apartment, closing the door gently behind him as he attempted to shake off the combatting feelings of both hope and dread that filled him.

* * *

"Katherine?"

I opened my eyes slowly, clumsily sitting up in the warm bath water I had just settled into as I heard Mary's voice and corresponding knock travel through the closed bathroom door.

"Are you alright, Mary? Do you need something?" I called back somewhat concernedly, looking for where I had placed the towel I had brought in with me in preparation to rush to her aid if necessary.

But I let myself lax back into the soothing warmth of the bath I had just drawn when I heard her soft chuckle and reply of, "At ease, my dear. I just wanted to let you know I'm headed to bed for the evening."

I smiled lightly at her droll tone, responding, "See you in the morning, Mary."

And as I heard her shuffle into her bedroom and close the door behind her, I allowed myself to sink further into the calming wetness, relishing in the few, very hard to come by moments of stillness that I had been luckily able to take advantage of for the evening.

After having worriedly, though voluntarily, dedicated myself to three days of round the clock care for Spot followed by my short circumvention of his attempted covert exit earlier that morning, I had found myself not only physically drained, but also emotionally debilitated from the whole affair. And upon having released him once more into the tempestuous imbroglio he had been wading through for days at that point-hopefully with a few new reassuring anecdotes to gnaw upon this time-I had again been forced into the uncomfortable and maddening position of waiting on his ambiguous return date.

But, truthfully, I did not begrudge Spot this further time extension. If anything, I wholly understood its real necessity, for, I too, often required a similar period of isolated processing before feeling ready to discuss anything of substance with him. And Spot, without fail, had always attempted to give me as much space as was necessary to work through whatever my present conundrum might be. Thus I, at the very least, owed him a mutual level of understanding and patience for his current emotional struggles.

However, even with this rational logic clearly sounding throughout my head, I still found myself sinking into a state of restless anxiety throughout the day, wanting with every ounce of my being for the matter between myself and Spot to be finally settled one way or another. So, with my chores completed for the day and nothing else pressing to do for the evening, I had decided to allow myself a half hour soak in Mary's tub to steady my frazzled nerves and aid me in maintaining my calm sense of purpose so as to allow Spot all of the time he might need to see the situation clearly again.

I sighed as I dipped my head back into the water to fully submerge my long, unruly hair for washing, suddenly catching an unsavory glimpse of the pale scarring along my lower abdomen. I frowned as I traced my fingers gently over the protruding lines of my flesh, simultaneously hearing Spot's voice flash through my head, spectrely enforcing his immovable sentiments on the matter.

It had been several months prior when he had first noted my habitual discomfort in leaving the area uncovered, long after the wound had fully healed. He had questioned my continued use of an overlying bandage atop the scarring one evening as I had readied myself for bed, worried that it had become infected. But upon discovering my inability to look upon my own marked body without devolving into a shaking frenzy, he had cupped my face with one of his hands, removing the bandage with his other as he had strongly asserted, "It's a word, Kate-just a word."

I had felt tears flow down my face as I had emotionally replied, "It's a bad word-it says something horrible about me for _everyone_ to know."

But he had shaken his head as he had gently countered, "Only if you let it. You know what it says to me?" I had bitten into my bottom lip as he had narrowed his gaze meaningfully at me, continuing, "That you're a survivor-that you're stronger than that word and whoever the sick fuck was who thought it was okay to try and hurt you by branding you with it."

I found myself smiling softly at the memory, the fierceness of his words only complemented by the subsequent tenderness of his lips upon my abdomen in the moments following, a visceral act of healing that had rendered the painful marker powerless from that point forward.

But I shook myself from my reverie as I noted the cooling temperature of the water I sat within-a small chill passing up my spine as a lukewarm breeze blew through the tiny, somewhat ajar window above me. So, quickly I washed my hair, scrubbing the rest of my body clean and then emerged from the basin feeling slightly less burdened from both the grime and anxiety of my recent labors.

And upon squeezing out the extra moisture from my wet hair into the draining tub behind me and patting the rest of my body dry, I wrapped the large towel about myself, glancing momentarily at my reflection in the foggy mirror that hung above the sink.

I wrinkled my nose in distaste as my eyes fell to the dark strands of wet hair that fell in curled clumps along my pale, slightly freckled shoulders. I had always been told that my complexion and unruly tresses had been gifted to me by my beautiful mother, but that the green of my eyes was undeniably my father's doing. My two much younger sisters had inherited my mother's dark blue gaze, but favored my father in every other way. Yet when a brief flash of my family members' faces passed intrusively through my mind, I felt a painful ache reverberate minutely within the pit of my stomach-a sickness I had come to know very well in the months following my kidnapping. I closed my eyes against the corresponding emotion, shaking my head to rid myself of the images.

The reality of my parents' poor support and guidance of me over the years had been a strange, and very painful pill for me to swallow-especially after I had spent the majority of my life believing the exact opposite. But truly, I had never had any real point of reference with which to compare what I now knew to be a very dysfunctional family dynamic. I had been well-fed and consistently clothed, never wanting for a roof over my head or a little spare change in my pocket to call my own. And the long list of needs that I had been required to fill intermittently in my mother's stead had seemed nothing if not reasonable in turn. But after the recent discovery of my mother's somehow active, though confusing, role in my kidnapping, I had begun to question the very foundation of my origin-Spot's slow but steady interest in my family only aiding me in unraveling the truth behind my upbringing.

Spot, however, had been nothing but prompting in his questions and commentary on my early life-making no judgments or interpretations of his own. If anything, his sporadic and sparing inquisitiveness into the inner workings of my parents' household had been purely wholesome in nature-an exercise for me to organize and understand my experiences in a more informed light.

I found myself again smiling briefly as a memory of a short conversation we had had a few months before found its way into my thoughts.

Spot had been quietly perched on the ledge of the roof, smoking a cigarette and smirking down at Rummy's third failed attempt of imitating the proper gentlemanly bow I had shown him several minutes earlier. I had covered my mouth to stifle my laugh at Rummy's overly grandiose gesture as he had shot me a glare, muttering, "Well, I'd do it better if you would actually teach me how."

I had looked at him incredulously, laughing "I still don't understand what possessed you to ask me to teach you in the first place. Why would I know anything more than you do about proper bowing etiquette?"

"Y'know," Rummy had responded, motioning with his hands as if to grasp the word he wanted from the air, "The school you went to-the finishing school."

I had raised my eyebrows, immediately turning to face Spot's paling face as I had crossed my arms over my chest and muttered, "Well, word sure travels fast around here."

Spot had directed a harsh glare toward Rummy as he had replied, "It sure as hell does."

I had chuckled in response as I had watched Spot jump down from his seat, walking toward Rummy and muttering, "Dumbass."

But I had laughed even harder at the two boys as I had watched Rummy throw up his hands in confusion before interjecting, "I feel like I need to set the story straight about this before I get any more strange tutorial requests. I attended a finishing school in Manhattan when I was fourteen for one week." I had paused holding up up my index finger to further stress the short timeframe of my stay, continuing, "And in case there is any more confusion as to what exactly a finishing school is in the first place, it's a school where girls learn to become proper ladies. So, as you can see, I am neither a good model nor a good teacher for what exactly that would look like."

I had exaggeratedly waved my arms over myself, intimating my clear unladylike status to the amusement of both Spot and Rummy, assuming that my commentary would finally be the end to any and all discussion of my basically non-existent stint in a finishing school all those years ago.

But later that night, as I had laid down on the cot next to Spot, settling into the crook of his shoulder and draping my arm over his bare abdomen, I had heard him quietly say, "So did you get kicked out?"

I had jerked my head upward, squinting at him in confusion before he had steadily elaborated, "The finishing school. Why were you only there for one week?"

"Oh," I had said disinterestedly, laying my head back down upon him before I had continued quietly, "No. I had to go home. My father came and got me because he needed help with Anna and Vivie. I think it was the start of one of my mother's episodes, but I don't remember exactly."

He had squeezed me in response, posing no further queries into the incident that night. But over the following several weeks I had found myself relaying multiple instances to him, detailing events and behaviors that had always seemed so inconsequential before I had ever said any of them aloud. And Spot had, in turn, patiently listened to these tales, almost as if he were collecting and cataloging the information in a different space for a different time.

But I again shook myself from my daydreaming, as I took one more glance into the now clear mirror, shrugging my shoulders and sighing before exiting the bathroom and making my way to my room. I shut my door quietly behind me, grasping the comb from atop the dresser beside the entrance to run it through some of the drying tangles along my shoulders.

However, a throat clearing behind me made me whirl around in panic, clutching my towel to my body and dropping the comb to the floor. I gasped in surprise, sputtering, "Oh my God," as I took in the unexpected sight of Spot's tall, lean form inclined against the base of the window across from me.

Several quiet moments passed between us, my breathing slowing to a normal rate again as Spot offered me a tempered smile and murmured, "Can I talk to you?"

I nodded slowly, my eyes confusedly giving him a quick once over in an attempt to read into his current mood. And, as I noted the shining clarity in his blue eyes and the tranquility in his stance, I felt a small pulse of hope fill me-a glimmering sheen of relief that perhaps my dreaded waiting period might finally be coming to an unexpectedly early end.

"Sometimes, I just need to walk a bit-get some fresh air to clear my head and really think about things," he softly continued, pushing himself carefully off of the window sill and taking a step nearer to me.

I raised my eyebrows at him, quickly taking in the small, battered black book in his right hand before I bent down to retrieve the comb I had dropped several moments before, muttering with a wry smirk, "Were it that I could have the same luxury."

He narrowed his eyes cautiously, almost as if he too were attempting to glean my present mood from his focused stare. But I quickly shot him a short, genuine smile, communicating the good-naturedness of our exchange as I continued, "Really, though, I'm glad you had some time to clear your head. I hope it helped."

He nodded, his body laxing somewhat at my cheeky, though still fully agreeable reply. And as several more silent moments passed, I shrugged and made my way to sit on the bed, quickly running the comb through several more sections of my thick hair, not wanting to push the conversation with him but also unsure of what direction, if any, our dialogue was going to take.

He ran a hand through his own hair, pulling his eyes away from my form as he continued softly, "I was just feelin' out of control, y'know? Like I was going to explode. There was all this energy that needed to come out, so I wandered here and there for a while, takin' some time to cool off before I headed down to the docks for my schedule." He paused, a small smile touching his lips as he brought his gaze back to mine, saying, "And weirdly enough, I ended up at this old second-hand bookshop-the one I used to go to all the time after I first met you."

His smile widened, his eyes glazing over in reverie as he softly continued, "And right there in the front was this used copy of Othello." He looked toward me again, lifting up the tattered book in his hand for me to see, saying, "It immediately made me think of that time you lent me your copy to read."

He chuckled quietly to himself, as I waited expectantly for him to either continue his monologue or relay the point of his story. But when he remained silent for several more moments, I placed the comb down on the nightstand beside me, grasping the bloomers I had laid on my bed before my bath and pulling them up under the towel I had on before saying awkwardly, "Well, that was a nice, albeit, random trip down memory lane, Spot."

His blue eyes snapped back to me again, watching with interest as I pulled the nightgown over my head and undid the towel from under it, folding the damp cloth and placing it on the nightstand as well. His gaze remained fixed on me as his lips upturned into his signature smirk before he murmured, "Do you remember the fight we had after I told you I didn't like it?"

I felt taken aback by his arbitrary question, confused as to the purpose of continuing the seemingly nonsensical dialogue he had started about Othello. But as I remained quiet for several more moments, he stared at me intently, beckoning me to respond.

I sighed, sitting back down on the bed and tucking my legs under me as I stated half-heartedly, "I don't know, some of it, I guess. It was a long time ago, Spot." But clearly dissatisfied with my lazy retort, he shot me another probing look as I rolled my eyes and added, "I just remember you saying that you thought it was stupid and had no idea why that would be my favorite Shakespeare play-that Desdemona and Othello's relationship wasn't romantic, it was ridiculous, and that Iago wasn't really even the villain."

I looked apprehensively toward him as I noted his soft smile, still unsure of what the ultimate meaning of his tale would be. But he only muttered somewhat elusively, "While that has about the right amount of cockiness in it, that's not exactly what I said."

I sighed, feeling somewhat irritable at the unplanned quiz I was not only being forced to take, but also unceremoniously failing. I shook my head, meeting Spot's intent gaze before saying, "I really don't remember."

He nodded, seeming to have been expecting my lackluster answers as he took a deep breath and continued, "I said that I thought Othello was stupid and Iago didn't really have to work very hard at being the villain. Othello kind of does all the real destruction on his own." He paused, glancing at me as if to ask for my corroboration of his answer, but I merely shrugged in response, having nothing further to add to his commentary. He smirked briefly again, saying, "You got upset with me-said I was completely missing the point of Othello and Desdemona's relationship-that their love was beautiful."

I continued to stare at him confusedly as several moments of silence passed between us, feeling further peeved at the unabating randomness of his speech. So, sighing heavily I responded, "I'm completely missing the point of _this_ story, Spot."

But he simply shrugged in response, looking down at the book in his large hands and flipping through several pages before saying, "Well, I bought it-figured maybe since it's your favorite I'd give it another go and see if I liked it any better the second time. And after I went down by the docks to get my schedule, I sat a while and looked through it again. But I have to tell you, Kate, I'm absolutely sure I'm in the right here about this one."

I narrowed my gaze at him, noting his earnest stare as I crossed my arms over my chest, muttering, "Are you telling me that you've climbed through my window tonight, requesting to speak with me after walking out on me for a second time in less than a week, just to reconfirm that you were right about an argument we had three years ago?"

He furrowed his brows looking down at the book in his hands again before haltingly replying, "Well, yes, but that's not it entirely."

I groaned, rolling my eyes in irritation as I asserted, "It's kind of impressive how skilled you are at adding insult to injury, Spot-a true gift if ever I saw one."

But I quickly ended my sarcastic rant as he emitted a frustrated sigh of his own, tossing the book atop the nightstand as he ran his hands through his hair and said almost pleadingly, "Kate, just lemme finish what I'm tryin' to say, alright? You know I'm not good at puttin' my thoughts to words like you are."

I felt suddenly moved by his emotional interruption, the effort he was putting forth to relay something important to me becoming unmistakably clear. There was a genuineness reflecting from his handsome face that brought a reflexive smile onto my lips as I sat back in the bed, candidly responding, "Okay. I'm listening."

He nodded curtly, seeming focused on correctly relaying his thoughts to me as he started to pace slowly in front of my bed, saying, "Well, Othello-he's ridiculous. He's got this beautiful, amazing woman by his side who loves him for all that he is and instead of just letting himself be happy, he fucks everything up." He stopped his movements flashing his blue eyes into mine fervently as he added, "They could have been happy together if he had just gotten his head out of his ass for a minute to enjoy all that he had."

I cocked my head at him curiously, meeting his steady gaze before thoughtfully responding, "Othello succumbs to his fatal flaw, Spot-mostly with Iago's urging. He's a tragic hero-the play is a tragedy-that's why it ends badly. But it doesn't make Desdemona and Othello's love any less beautiful or real." He stared at me, his brows furrowing again as I felt compelled to add, "But it's also okay that we take away different meanings from it. That's what makes it so good."

He offered another short nod to my commentary, beginning to pace in front of me once more before saying, "Well, I still don't like it, but I did have some different takeaways after reading it this time."

I remained quiet as Spot paused reflectively, not wanting to interrupt the point he finally seemed to be building toward. And after a few moments of continued silence, he halted his movements, turning to me and saying softly, "I guess it suddenly occurred to me that I've been feeling a lot like Othello lately-really since I've been tryin' to make this work with you."

I shook my head in bewilderment, puzzled as to what specific connection he was finding between our relationship and the famed Venetian Moor's. But before he could elaborate any further into the true meaning of his statement, I found myself saucily claiming, "Well, I'm not going to leave you for Rummy if that's what you're worried about. Sure, sometimes he's nicer than you are, but I don't think that Annabelle, or even Rummy for that matter, would take too kindly to me afterwards."

Spot stared at me in confoundment for several moments, seeming utterly flabbergasted by my clearly outrageous and irrelevant statement. And I, in turn, found myself unable to stifle the chuckle that emitted from my mouth in response to his utterly disconcerted reaction.

But, surprisingly, he quickly replied in kind, the shock on his face slowly transforming into a warm smile as he closed his eyes and shook his head, chuckling while he responded, "That's actually a sure fire way to find out how mean Rummy can be. He doesn't take disloyalty very well, and, honestly-I'm pretty sure you scare the ever-living shit out of him anyway."

"Even better," I shot back, my eyes locking affectionately onto his as I mirrored his soft smile.

Yet after several quiet, though meaningful moments passed between us, I again noted the presence of his signature smirk upon his lips as he continued, "But, I'm pretty sure you know that's not what I meant."

"I'm anxiously awaiting your conclusion," I softly responded, widening my eyes in surprise as he swiftly came forward and sat beside me on the bed, grasping my hands within his own purposefully.

I stared attentively into his serious gaze as he murmured, "It was foolish of me to have missed all the opportunities there've been to be with you over the years, Kate. But walkin' away from you when you're finally mine-well that's just plain insanity."

His hand reached up and gently stroked against my cheek, my eyes closing in immediate response to the electrifying sensations that spread from the centrum of his touch. But I focused my gaze on his emotional blue stare once more as I heard him murmur, "I guess we all have our own fatal flaws to contend with. I think my father's was that he couldn't help but take pleasure in other's mine-" Spot sighed, glancing to the side before squeezing my hand in his and continuing, "Mine is that I still let my father's twisted choices dictate my actions now."

Yet, as he squeezed my hands within his own again, looking toward me with an uncharacteristic amount of apprehension, I began to comprehend the true significance behind all of his disjointed statements up to that point. And in the wake of his thoughtful, though grief-filled words, I met his gaze compassionately, gently running my thumbs over the rough topography of his skin as I saw the preceding years of pain and trauma pass forcefully throughout his body. It was a sweeping assault-an unforgiving onslaught of the routinely withheld anguish that he had always hidden deep within himself. But now, as he met my gaze with candor, I realized that he wasn't just enduring the turmoil of his past as a means of finally working toward its internment. He was also bravely sustaining himself against it as a showing of his fully resolved commitment to me. Even after a lifetime of carefully prepared distancing from everyone around him, he was voluntarily and deliberately baring his complete self to me in those moments, unadorned by his protective armor-trusting that I would properly safehold him as he sat vulnerable and exposed. And for the first time since I had known Spot Conlon, I felt with an unequivocal certainty that he had finally decided to wholly allow himself to be mine, and mine alone.

But I inhaled sharply when his strong, warm hands grasped my face, suddenly pulling me closer to him as he whispered emotionally, "There are so many shitty, random things that create tragedies in this world-so many people that revel in the chaos that it brings. But this-what you and I have, Kate," He paused, shaking my face slightly in his grip before continuing, "It doesn't have to end badly-and we sure as fuck shouldn't be the ones trying to mess it up."

He stared fixedly at me, his blue eyes baring fiercely into my own widened gaze as he murmured, "I have this beautiful, amazing woman sitting in front of me-wanting me, loving me for all that I am, and I should just let myself be in it with her." He paused, gently running his fingers through my drying hair, his gaze focusing on my parted lips before he assuredly murmured, "I don't have to become my father."

I felt one of his hands slide gently into a position at the nape of my neck, the other hesitantly trailing along my lips. But I quickly grasped his timid hand within my own, matching his intent stare as I moved his hand underneath the hem of my nightgown and placed it firmly upon the waistband of my pantaloons, murmuring, "You won't. I won't let you."

And almost as if pulled by some otherworldly force, we converged together magnetically, his firmly situated hands drawing me atop him as I wrapped my arms about his neck and straddled his torso with my knees. But when I went to put my mouth on his, he thwarted my attempt, touching his nose gently to mine and smirking at my frustrated sigh as he murmured seductively, "I think I'll take the lead tonight, love, so prepare yourself-'cause I'm not gonna hold back."

I felt a sly grin grow on my lips as I put my mouth to his ear and whispered the quote, "She wished that heaven had made her such a man," satisfaction filling me at Spot's corresponding aroused shudder.

But I gasped in surprise when he purposefully gripped my middle within his strong hold, pushing me suddenly onto my back as he deftly removed my undergarments, the rousing thrill that pulsed throughout my body leaving me senseless with want. He shrugged off his suspenders and swiftly pulled off his shirt in kind, tossing it immediately onto the floor as he pushed my legs apart with his knee and leaned over me, his golden hair framing his face handsomely. I ran my fingers gently through the soft strands, inhaling sharply when one of his hands clutched onto my bare hip, the other travelling slowly up my torso and settling underneath my shoulder blade as his lips simultaneously moved against my neck and jawline.

A slow tension began to build between our interlaced forms as I relinquished myself into Spot's very able hands. But, unlike the last time we had been intimate, he maintained a steady, though consistently intense, pace throughout our encounter, attentively venerating every inch of me with his electrifying affection. He focused unfailingly on fueling my wants-reverently taking my willing body with his once he had properly adulated my frame into a type of abstract bliss. And when he ran his hands roughly through my hair, burying his face into my neck as he began to thrust within me, I wrapped my legs about his taut back pulling him further upon me until he reached a corresponding level of euphoria.

I felt his breath heavy on my neck as we both slowly descended from our high, his body resting atop mine while I ran my fingers lightly over his back and through his somewhat dampened hair. His gentle kiss upon my cheek brought my gaze back to his as he ran his thumb along my lips and jawline, his blue eyes intent as he murmured, "For she had eyes and chose me."

And all I could do was smile warmly in response, utterly contented as he rolled my body into his strong, protective grasp, nothing else lurking in the now cemented space between us.


End file.
